All the King's Men
by Melon Fuhrer
Summary: AU in which Riza Hawkeye is the one framed for the murder of Maes Hughes. Set directly after the explosion of the fifth laboratory.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: **All content belongs to Hiromu Arakawa. I make no profit from this in any way, shape, or form.

**A/N:** This will be very slightly AU concerning events directly before Hughes' death, just a heads up.

* * *

Riza Hawkeye did not own an alarm clock.

It was not out of a scatterbrained mental slip, and it wasn't as though it were something she indifferently meant to purchase and yet kept putting it off. Her lack of ownership was very deliberate and thought-out, like everything she did or did not do. Her body naturally knew what time to wake up – Lieutenant Hawkeye was nothing if not punctual, even in her subconscious.

The more prominent reason, however, was that after her days in Ishval, she had become easily perturbed in her sleep, as had nearly everyone else she knew of who'd survived the battlefield. One did not touch a soldier with the intent to wake them unless one desired to be shot by the gun hiding under the soldier's pillow, or strangled to death with the soldier's bare hands.

Alarms were just as bad at setting off a soldier with any form of this affliction; not for the clock, of course, but for the soldier's derailing sanity. Riza much preferred waking naturally without holding a knife to an inanimate object's throat.

Today Hawkeye was particularly grateful that she did not possess such a device; her head felt as though someone were drilling a hole through it with a screwgun. A shrill ring to wake her up would have sent her off the edge. And she was forced to admit that it wasn't just a normal headache as she leaned over the edge of her bed, groping for her trashbin and heaving violently. It was a migraine.

Trembling, Riza slid her legs off the bed, pulling a blanket with her as she half-crawled to the bathroom, not bothering to turn the light on. Her toothbrush soon found its way into her hand, scrubbing out the bile residue left in her oral cavity. Her motions were a little too vigorous, and she accidentally stabbed herself in the uvula with the brush, making her gag. She was sure she would have vomited again if it weren't for the fact that she'd skipped dinner the night before, not feeling well enough to eat.

Rinsing and spitting out whatever was left in her mouth, Riza dropped the red plastic brush onto the granite counter, wincing as it clattered against it loudly and then fell onto the floor. The lieutenant spent a long minute mulling over whether she should pick it back up; despite the unnecessary pain the movement caused her, her strict, practical side won out. She washed it out in the sink and set it back in its plastic container.

After swallowing a generous dose of painkillers from her medicine cabinet, she made it back into her bedroom, grabbing the trashcan from her floor and holding at arm's length as she carried it back to her bathroom. When she'd finished cleaning it out, she flopped down on her bed with all the grace of a hippopotamus. With half-lidded eyes, she stared at her uniform draped over the chair sitting at her vanity, debating. She wasn't one to call in sick, but…

Her hand was on the receiver, dialing her superior, before she realized what she was doing. She gazed dazedly out her window, the hand holding the phone outstretched away from her ear. _Please pick up, sir…_

He answered on the fifth ring. "You've reached Colonel Mustang," he answered, as per usual.

"Sir?" She winced; her voice sounded much weaker than she had meant to let on. Turning her head from the receiver, she cleared her throat in an attempt to cover her tracks. "Sir," she repeated, her voice just a smidge louder, "it's Lieutenant Hawkeye."

"Lieutenant," he breathed, sounding almost relieved for a moment before recognizing the edge in her voice. "Why are you calling me this early in the morning? What's wrong?"

Instead of telling him outright her reasons for calling, she asked, "I don't suppose I could talk you out of going to work today?" Though it was a childish gesture, the lieutenant couldn't help but cross her fingers in hopes that he would listen to her.

Mustang chuckled softly. "You know me. Normally the answer would be yes, but I can't today. We've got a field mission today. Remember?" He sounded uneasy; it wasn't like her to forget something like that.

Riza swore under her breath.

"Lieutenant? What's wrong?" the Colonel asked again.

She had been hoping to convince him to stay home; she couldn't protect him if she stayed home and he was at work, and he needed her at his side, especially on a day like today, where he was going to put himself at direct risk. They were hunting Scar, who could easily set fire to the Colonel's brain faster than the dark-eyed man could blink. She couldn't leave him to face that alone. She couldn't leave him defenseless.

Restraining a sigh, she answered, "Nothing, sir. I'll see you at work."

* * *

Colonel Mustang was at her front door less than twenty minutes later. After shushing Black Hayate, shooing him back out of the room, and wincing from the pain of the sunlight coming from the outside world, she registered his presence and her eyes widened. "S-sir!" she stuttered, her hand flying to her temple in a relatively weak salute, her back stiffening.

He gave her a halfhearted smile and held up a gloved hand. "At ease, Lieutenant. I came to check up on you, and to drive you to work when you insist on going."

Riza wanted to smirk at him, or thank him, but the only reaction she could muster up was to wave a hand inside, ushering them both out of the sun. The light felt like knives stabbing into her frontal lobe. She shut the door as quietly as possible behind her.

"Sir," she began quietly, "as I told you, I'm fine. I don't know_ why_ you insisted on coming over-"

The look in Mustang's dark eyes killed the words on her tongue. "I know better than to lie to _you_, Lieutenant. I would think you'd know the same." While the words were harsh, his tone was soft. He wasn't angry at all; he knew her. She wasn't lying to him out of malice or ill intent – Riza was denying it to herself, and therefore to him. She'd always been stubborn. "You can tell me if you're not feeling well."

Before she could respond, his right glove was off and his hand was pressed against her forehead. Her lips pulled downwards into a small frown. "I don't have a fever, sir," she insisted, pulling back from him slightly. Riza's hand grabbed his and held it at a distance from her face. "And with all due respect, _I'll_ decide if I'm well enough to go to work today."

Mustang sighed and retrieved his hand from hers, sliding the glove back on. "This is about the mission today, isn't it?" he asked.

Riza nodded crisply. "I can't protect you from the comfort of my home, sir. I need to be by your side, especially on a day like today."

"You also can't protect me very well with a migraine," he retorted.

Her eyes widened. How did he know?

"Your lights are all off," he answered her unspoken question. "You're barely speaking above a whisper, and you didn't even greet me when I showed up at your door," he finished jokingly, with a slight pout. "How long has it been since the last one?"

She didn't answer right away. The Colonel followed Riza as she moved to sit down at her kitchen table, rubbing her temple lightly. They both looked up as Black Hayate padded back into the kitchen with them, sniffing at Roy and wagging his tail as the man pet him fondly. "I can't say for sure," Riza finally responded, "but it _has_ been a while. I took medicine, for it, though. I will be all right, Colonel. I'm not staying home."

He shifted forward in his seat, still rubbing her dog's neck. "I'll make you a deal. You stay home today, and I'll bring Ross and Brosh with me along with the rest of the team to fill your spot."

She didn't bother getting offended at his phrasing – could he really replace her that easily? - but it did upset her to think he could so easily overlook her real role in accompanying him on the field. "Sir," she muttered, "even if you could get away with bringing along two extra lieutenants who are not assigned under your command-"

"Are you doubting me, Hawkeye?" Mustang interrupted her, his eyebrow upturned, a feigned look of hurt on his face. "I can pull strings when I want to."

The lieutenant had to resist rolling her eyes; the motion would have been painful. "Even so, they wouldn't be performing the role of your bodyguard, sir. _That's_ why I need to be with you today. I'm not going to risk your safety for my personal com-"

Suddenly she stopped, this time cut off not by another person, but by her own body. Her stomach flipped painfully and she grimaced, steeling herself for what was about to happen. She stood and ran for the sink, dry-heaving into it and spitting up what little substance she had left in her, gagging at the bitter taste of bile on her tongue.

Mustang was immediately at her side, holding her hair away from her face and rubbing her back. Riza knew he could feel how badly she was trembling. She cursed inwardly at having forgotten to put her hair up in a clip; she hated the Colonel seeing her so weak, and having him this close to her while in this state was downright embarrassing.

As she finished, she moved away from him and rinsed her mouth out. She began to head towards the bathroom again in order to once again brush her teeth, but Mustang held his arm out in front of her, blocking her way. Riza refused to meet his eyes. She knew what she had coming.

"You're staying home today, Lieutenant. That's an order."

* * *

Everyone in the office jumped as Roy threw the phone on the receiver.

"What's the matter, chief?" Havoc asked warily. Roy had been tense all day; the men didn't say anything, but they guessed it had something to do with Hawkeye's absence. At the very least, it didn't help to add that on top of whatever was getting Mustang all worked up.

"Scar's been spotted in Central. They're transferring my orders to another officer over there," he stated, his voice betraying no emotion. He straightened and turned to face his team. "Looks like our field trip's been canceled." _And there goes my chance at ending this, _and _at a promotion. He's becoming a bigger problem than I thought. How the hell is he evading the entire military so easily? Who the hell is this guy?_

"Damn, and I was hoping to get away from my paperwork for a day," Breda grumbled under his breath, not making any real effort to hide his words from his superior.

"You and me both," Roy replied distantly, gazing out the window. _At least the lieutenant won't have anything to worry about,_ he mused. _And maybe it's a good thing, since I couldn't get Brosh and Ross under me for this mission, although it's suspicious I couldn't be told where they are…_

Suddenly the phone rang again, and the Colonel glared at it for a long minute before grudgingly picking it up. "Colonel Mustang," he answered shortly.

"An Alphonse Elric calling for you, sir," a secretary's irritatingly nasal voice informed him. "Should I put him through?"

Roy groaned and ran a hand through his hair. How many times had he told the woman to automatically transfer them to his line? "Yeah. Next time, don't bother asking, just do it,' he reminded her impatiently. He was answered with a brief 'sir' before he heard a click, and the line transferred. "Alphonse, what's going on?" he demanded.

"Al, I told you not to talk to that basta- _hey_!"

"Quiet, Brother, I'm on the phone!" Alphonse cleared his nonexistent throat and turned his metal head back to the receiver. "Colonel, I need to talk to you. Something happened last night. Brother's in the hospital-"

"What?!" Roy gasped. The hell had the brat and his tin can of a brother gotten themselves into now? "Alphonse, I need you to tell me everything."

* * *

"Well, whatever you two planned on doing with your lives after you get your bodies back, it looks like being an artist is out of the question for you, Fullmetal," Roy snickered. He held in his hand Ed's drawing of two figures dressed in black, though it could hardly be used as a reference to point him in the right direction. All he could really tell about the two was that one had long, spiky hair, and the other was woman who was… well endowed.

The late afternoon light shot rays of pink onto Edward's already red face. "Shut up, Colonel! I doubt you could do any better!" he cried indignantly.

Roy gave him a hard look. "Well, between my alchemy training, the military academy, the war, and climbing the ranks, I can't say I've had a lot of time for art lessons," he spat. "Anyway, do either of you two have any idea who these people are?" he asked, handing the doodle back to the blonde runt.

Edward shook his head and shrugged. "Nah, they just kept rambling about some plans we weren't supposed to know about. But whoever they are, they seemed to have some sort of control over what's going on with Lab 5 and Central Prison, which means there's a good chance they've got some connection to the military. Either that, or they've managed to smuggle death-row criminals for years without anyone knowing…"

Roy felt a chill start to creep through him, though he kept it from showing. The last thing the Elrics needed to see was their superior let his mask break. _If they're in any way affiliated with the military, then are they the ones in control, or are they following orders from someone higher up? How much involvement does the military have in these experiments?_

"You said you suspected that they were working on a philosopher's stone using the prisoners sentenced to execution," Roy began, recalling with a minute shudder what the boys had discovered about the ingredients of the damned thing. They had refused to tell him until he gave a direct order to report their information; even then, it had been like pulling teeth. "Did you find any evidence to back your theory up when you were in there?"

Again, Edward shook his head. "No. All we know for sure is that they were using them for experiments; they know how to bind souls to armor like I did with Al. They were using them as guards, so they must have been hiding _something_ important."

Roy nodded after a moment of thought. "Well, unfortunately, this kind of thing isn't my division," he announced breezily. "Try to stay out of trouble; I'm not going to come all the way up here to visit every time you land yourself in the hospital, Fullmetal," he remarked, throwing a haphazard wave at the brothers before strolling out of the room, catching a glimpse of their dumbfounded faces before making his exit.

He was glad that Ross had had the sense not to take the Elrics to a military hospital. The phones were less likely to be tapped here. Even so, he'd be relying on code, just in case. He popped a coin into the nearest phone, dialing one of the only numbers he'd ever cared to memorize.

"Gracia," he muttered when the other line picked up. "Where's Maes?"

* * *

Envy spun in Lieutenant-Colonel Hughes' chair, waiting. Lust had said to give her fifteen minutes, and the homunculus was counting down the seconds. Currently, it was in the soldier's form, though it was likely that that would be changing soon. Hughes was probably going to have to be disposed of – Envy didn't really trust its sister to get the job done - and it wouldn't do to let anyone see a duplicate of a man killing himself.

_But who to use…_

The chair slowed in its revolutions, and Envy's eyes scanned the room. It saw endless framed photos of a mousy-haired woman and a small child who looked exactly like her, some with the soldier and a few without. _His wife and daughter_, it mused. _That'll come in handy._ _But I need someone in uniform if I'm walkin' out of here in plain sight._

Of course they needed a culprit, someone to pin as guilty so as to avoid any deeper investigation and risk exposing themselves. As much as any of them hated to admit it, the homunculi were not an all-powerful group, not even with Father. Their existence was to remain silent until Father's grand plans came to fruitition. For they would all be unstoppable, invincible, _immortal_ on that day, and no human army would be able to exterminate them or even overthrow them once it happened.

Envy continued to survey the office, its cold eyes taking note of every detail in the room.

Suddenly, one particular photograph caught its eye. It depicted Hughes and another dark-haired man, the one Envy was fairly sure was named Mustang. _The Flame Alchemist,_ Envy recalled. Hughes had his arm loosely draped around the Colonel, leading the Homunculus to believe they were close. It filed that away with the pictures of his wife and daughter.

Its gaze drifted to the right to see a woman next to the alchemist, a third party completing the trio, though she seemed almost like Mustang's shadow from the way she held herself, almost as though she were his bodyguard. _He must be important,_ it pondered thoughtfully. _And that makes him a threat._

The homunculus stared at the photo for a long moment, its face eventually twisting up into a parody of a grin.

Envy's eyes flitted back up to the clock, smirking as it saw the time. "Thirteen minutes is close enough," it shrugged as it stood, the air around it rippling with electricity as its form began to mutate.

* * *

**A/N:** Well, here you have it; the first chapter is done. One issue I briefly want to address is my references (particularly that it is dangerous to wake someone with this disorder by touching them if their condition is war-related) to PTSD (post-traumatic stress disorder) in the beginning of this chapter. I didn't name it directly, because I don't think that they would have a term for it in the setting they live in, but if you are familiar with anyone who has it, then it ought to have been fairly obvious what I was talking about. Nothing substantial is given to us within canon to prove that Riza or anyone else has it, but honestly with such focus on the horrors of the war depicted in all three medias, I would be shocked if she (as well as Roy and Hughes) _didn't_ have it to some degree. And as for waking without being touched, we see this with Roy several times – in fact, any time he is asleep or dozing off, he is wakened by someone talking softly to him from a bit of a distance, which is the best way to wake someone who suffers from war-related PTSD (I've lived with a family member who has it, which is how I know).

Anyways, please leave me a review and give me your thoughts!


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: **All content belongs to Hiromu Arakawa. I make no profit from this in any way, shape, or form.

* * *

"Dammit!" Lieutenant-Colonel Hughes slammed the phone on the receiver and punched the wall of the phone booth, feeling his knuckles split. "Where the _hell_ is he?"

He had just gotten off the phone with one of the secretaries at Eastern Command, that airhead one who had probably slept her way into her position, seeing as she didn't know a damn thing about office work. She'd made him recite his emergency code and had put him on hold for a solid three minutes before seeming to remember that she had to get back to him. And then she'd pissed him off even more when she told him Mustang wasn't in East City at all, then refused to disclose his location.

If Maes had his friend's gloves on him right now, the whole booth would be up in flames.

Pressing a hand tightly to his stab wound, Hughes motioned to turn around, intent on making his way out – not back to work, and definitely not home, though any other options eluded him at the moment – but froze as he heard the click of a revolver. His hands instinctively rose in the air.

"Lieutenant-Colonel Hughes. I need to ask you to step away from the receiver," a familiar voice commanded.

Hughes stiffened, then chuckled under his breath. "Ordering me around, now, are you?" he asked, slowly turning to face the soldier. "That's unusual." He took a moment to peer at the gun and the person wielding it. "Who the hell are you?"

She didn't so much as blink. "I'm First Lieutenant Hawkeye, sir. Who do I look like?"

Maes had to suppress another halfhearted laugh; it hurt too much. "Say, Lieutenant, done something different with your hair?" he asked, an edge in his words.

The Lieutenant looked slightly confused. "No, sir."

"Really? Hmm. Maybe it's just the fact that I know the _real_ Lieutenant Hawkeye would never point a gun at me. Or maybe that she's not even in Central right now. I think that's what's throwing me off," he spat, reaching into his uniform to pull out his last knife on the imposter.

His armed hand froze halfway to the person's ribcage as Riza's face warped into one even more intimately familiar; large green eyes framed by mousy brown bangs stared up at him.

"Gracia," he choked.

Whatever the hell this thing was, it started laughing at him maniacally. "You should see your face!" it roared, its sides shaking with laughter. Its voice didn't match the face, and for that Hughes was grateful. "You humans kill me," it told him after a moment, collecting itself.

"What the hell are you?" he whispered.

The monster disguised as his wife merely shook its head. "You're smart, you know that? Too smart for your own damn good."

Whatever else it had to say was lost; the only thing that reached him was the earsplitting crack of a gunshot. Distantly, he felt himself fall backwards into space and hit the cold cement, his head banging against the metal frame of the phone booth. The world spun; Hughes' ears rang, and he felt something warm seep into his uniform. Slowly, his condition dawned on him.

"Gracia…" he managed to gasp. "Elicia… I'm sorry… I love you…"

The world dimmed, and Maes Hughes closed his eyes, letting out one last labored breath.

* * *

Several pairs of eyes widened as Colonel Mustang stepped through the set of double doors at of Central Command, hands flying to salute as the decorations on his uniform registered. He doubted many of them recognized his face, but his donned ignition gloves likely gave away his identity. The Flame Alchemist was more or less famous in the same way Fullmetal was.

He paid the other soldiers no notice as he strode past the front desk, aiming towards Hughes' office, but froze as a drop of blood on the ground caught his eye.

"Sir?" a high-pitched voice piped up behind him. "If you're looking for Lieutenant Colonel Hughes, he's not in his office."

Roy felt a shiver go up his spine; his heart sank with the realization that the blood he spied probably had some connection. "Where'd he go?" he demanded, turning to face the brunette secretary, realizing he recognized her. Sarah? Sandra? Sheila?

Whatever her name was, she pointed towards the west exit. "He was about to make a phone call, then decided against it and left, right after firing me," she added bitterly. "He was hurt, though… I hope he's okay…"

_Dammit, Hughes!_ "Get the floor cleaned up; that's disgusting," he spat as he trudged in the direction the girl – _Sheska,_ that was it – had pointed. He'd reached the doors before the girl had a chance to mention her surprise at him and Lieutenant Hawkeye showing up at Central separately.

* * *

Ice shot through Roy's veins as he spotted a phone booth half a block from HQ; he'd been following Hughes' blood trail to this spot. He stopped, frozen to the ground where he stood.

A dark red pool stained the cement surrounding the structure, and while it was nearly pitch black tonight, he was almost dead certain he saw a pair of legs protruding from the booth.

After an intense moment of shock, Roy somehow managed to clear his throat. "Hughes!' he shouted. He barely waited three seconds in which he received no response before breaking into a sprint, skidding to a halt as he reached his best friend.

The man lay still, soaked in a large pool of his own blood (_large, very large, much too large, how the __**hell**__ is it that large)_, his glasses sliding down his long, angular nose. That one lock of hair (that one that reminded him of Ed's stupid antenna) that he'd never understood fell flat against his face, instead of standing at attention like the rest of him never did.

Roy frantically ran a hand through his hair and collapsed to his knees, falling forward onto the palms of his hands, soaking his ignition gloves in that dark liquid, but he wasn't thinking about that because that means something and Roy's not ready to face that something yet. His eyes raked across Hughes' form, snagging on a ragged hole in his uniform. With trembling hands, he undid the pointless flap on the front of his comrade's uniform, peeling it open to find a single bullet wound, close-range, strategically aimed.

Suddenly Roy's eyes flashed up to the man's face. "Hughes?" he demanded. "How long ago did this happen?" Roy shouted, half of him desperately expecting a response. "Who did this to you? _Fuck_, Hughes, tell me! That's an order!" he screamed, his vision blurring. He grabbed Hughes' shoulders, shaking him as he yelled. The man didn't move, didn't breathe; the other watched with wide eyes, taking no note of the tears pooling his eyes. With a strangled cry, his head fell against the other man's chest, his own shoulders shaking as he let loose.

Roy had no idea how much time had passed by the time his head finally cleared enough for him to stand up, distancing himself from the body of his best friend, finding there was no comfort in being close when the man he knew was no longer there. He pulled some change out of his pockets, picking up the receiver and dialing for a paramedic.

When they arrived, Roy had no real concept of where he was or what he was doing; he watched like a ghost, his eyes trailing them as they loaded the body onto a stretcher, bagging him up like so much useless trash. It was surreal. He'd seen death, and far too much of it. He'd always thought that most people he knew in the military would fall in action, mostly due to his own trauma. The reality of it was far worse than he could have imagined. He was already wondering about the Hughes family, whether they had been notified already and if not, who would do it and when, and most importantly, how. Distantly, he realized he ought to be there when the news was delivered, but at the moment couldn't bring himself to even picture himself listening to the story being told. He didn't want the visual of Gracia consoling Elicia, trying to explain what "not coming home" meant to the girl of only three years.

"Sir," one of the paramedics pulled him out of his spiraling. "I'm very sorry, but I can't allow you to follow to the hospital. There's no way of reviving him. Do you understand what I'm telling you?" the woman asked, watching him carefully. "He's going to be taken in for an autopsy immediately. We won't be allowing visitors of any kind."

He stared at her for a moment before slowly nodding. "I understand," he replied tersely. As she turned to walk away, he finally noticed the military personnel prowling the scene. One of the men in Hughes' division was bent in front of the booth, plastic bag in hand, reaching for something on the ground. In the dim light from the street lamp, Roy made out faces on the object – it was a photograph.

Without realizing what he was doing, he strode over the man, nearly knocking him over in his attempt to snatch the photo out of his hand. The soldier shoved him off and got to his feet. "Stand down, Colonel! This is evidence at the scene of the crime; we need this."

"Like _hell _that's 'evidence'!" Roy shouted. "That's a picture of the man's family, not a murder weapon. Hand it over," he growled, a hand outstretched. A demand, not a request.

"I will not. This contains Lieutenant Colonel Hughes' blood, proof-"

"Of _**what**_?!" the Colonel nearly screamed, his hands grabbing the man's collar and shaking him. "The man is _dead_! His body is proof of that! The bullet in his ribs is proof of that! What the _fuck_ do you hope to accomplish with that damn photo?"

The man's eyes were wide with something Roy knew far too well – fear. He'd seen it a thousand times in the desert. He'd _caused_ it a thousand times in hell. "Someone sedate this man!" he shouted. Dimly, Roy realized he was losing his grip, crossing lines. He couldn't bring himself to give a damn.

Before he even knew what hit him, something was stabbing him, and the world was silent.

* * *

The service was a blur. Roy spoke after Mrs. Hughes; a few simple words to commemorate the passing of a great soldier. His speech was nothing special, but no matter how hard he might have tried, nothing he could have said would've sufficed. He saluted on cue and watched the gunfire dumbly, his face a frozen mask.

Too soon and not soon enough, the funeral was over, and most of the officers present filed back to the chapel. He lingered, ambling towards the grave. The headstone was rather impressive; the military put forth a lot of dough to help the family of a fallen hero. The Fuhrer himself had attended the funeral; Roy had seen the man's hands shake at the sound of Elicia's cries. They made an event of these things. They'd even promoted him to Brigadier General.

Roy stared through the pile of flowers adorning the grave, feeling hollow. "You damn fool," he whispered. "I thought you were smarter than getting killed in action." He said nothing else – he couldn't. There was nothing _to_ say. What words could a man have when he lost his brother?

After a few minutes, he heard someone approaching. He tensed for a moment before turning to see who it was. Upon spotting blonde hair and sympathetic brown eyes, the Colonel relaxed. Her jacket was draped over her arm; she was in her dress uniform, which included a knee-length skirt, and he imagined her exposed legs were freezing in the biting air, though she showed no signs of discomfort.

"Sir, would you like to head back? It's getting chilly," the Lieutenant told him softly.

Roy didn't respond. He tried, but he couldn't speak past the block in his throat.

Riza seemed to take his silence as a no. Instead of leaving on her own, however, she stayed where she was, shifting towards him slightly. He felt her fingers tentatively brush against his; he automatically gripped her hand in his. Roy realized he was probably hurting her with the intensity of his grip, but she did not complain.

They stood in silence for a long minute before he felt her hand begin to slip out of his. He tried to hold her there, but immediately let her go when he heard people approach behind them. The two turned to face their company, freezing at the sight of Fuhrer King Bradley and his aides. Their salutes were instantaneous.

"Lieutenant Hawkeye," the man announced. "I need to ask you to come with me."

Riza froze. "May I ask why, sir?" she asked, her voice shaking just slightly."

The man standing to the right of the Fuhrer held up a pair of handcuffs. "Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye, you are under arrest for the murder of Brigadier General Maes Hughes."

* * *

A/N: Well, this chapter was both hard and easy to write. If you follow me on tumblr, you may or may not know about some personal events that happened this last weekend; long story short, it made writing about death hard, because it hit a sore spot, but easy because I have an inkling of what Roy went through in this chapter.

One sidenote I want to add is that, yes, I know Sheska has not met Roy or Riza at this point in canon – that's part of why this is AU. Not a big deal in the grand scheme of things; I just wanted to use someone we already know in that scene instead of a random secretary.

Also, in case you hadn't figured it out yet, there will be some romance in this fic; if you hate Royai with every fiber of your being, this probably won't be your favorite fic. Just a warning.

Please leave a review!


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: **All content belongs to Hiromu Arakawa. I make no profit from this in any way, shape, or form.

* * *

**_~The Night of Hughes' Murder~_**

Lust was glaring. Usually her face was rather apathetic, sometimes tinged with a touch of disgust – she'd always had that sort of attitude, that stuck-up air about her that Envy had always hated. It felt the same when it came to humans – obviously, a fine specimen such as itself was far superior to those meatbags – but Lust held herself above the rest of the homunculi as well, whether she outwardly admitted it or not. It made Envy want to smack her sometimes.

This was a look it rarely saw on her face; even rarer still was it ever directed at it.

"You're such a fool, Envy," she hissed. "What the hell gave you the idea to impersonate the Flame Alchemist's Lieutenant?"

Envy shrugged nonchalantly. "I don't know, I was pretty sure I had to impersonate a soldier since I was in Central Headquarters," it told her. "And I figured I might as well take someone down, since we're all about ruining the military from the inside now," it spat.

Lust pinched the bridge of her nose, frustrated. "You fool," she repeated. "Do you have _any_ idea what you've done?"

Envy blinked, beginning to feel a little unsettled. "The hell are you talking about?"

Wrath, whose presence Envy had almost forgotten about, cleared his throat. "Mustang is very valuable to us, Envy," he said evenly, though his tone was slightly patronizing. "He is a potential sacrifice. We shouldn't be taking any risks with him."

It couldn't help rolling its eyes. "I still don't get wha-"

Wrath stood. "No, you don't," he cut it off menacingly. "My spies in Eastern have gathered more than enough proof of the Colonel's tendency to be overly attached to his subordinates. His First Lieutenant is his bodyguard," he informed it, noting no amount of surprise in its features.

"I figured as much," Envy grumbled. "She holds herself the same way_ your_ minions do."

"Pride has been keeping watch on Mustang, as with all other potential sacrifices," he continued as if the other homunculus hadn't spoken, "and we have reason to believe he will take rash action if his Lieutenant is accused for this crime." He paused. "We will have to kill her. To keep her quiet, to keep up our front, to stop further investigation by any third party. We will have to convict her and sentence her to death. We risk losing Mustang."

It was silent for a long moment. Lust continued to glare at it, while Wrath stood calmly and waited for Envy's response. When his words registered, Envy could only laugh.

"You're both a couple of morons. Don't act like this is the end of the world. Hold the bitch hostage, keep the alchemist in line. I'm surprised you idiots haven't figured that out on your own," it scoffed, folding its arms over its chest. It watched Wrath and Lust glance at each other briefly; it could tell the idea actually hadn't occurred to them. "Some evil monsters you two are," it laughed.

Wrath sighed. "Even if we do, it's almost certain Mustang will stick his nose where he shouldn't. You've created a very big problem for us, Envy," he said, his tone dark.

Envy shrugged, ignoring the edge in the other homunculus. They were making way too big a deal of this. "Whateve-"

"Let me make myself clear," Wrath interrupted, a hard glare entering his visible eye. There was no mistaking the meaning in his next words.

"If we lose Mustang, the penalty will fall on _you_."

* * *

Roy's face twisted into a mask of both anger and fear. "What the hell, Bradley?" he demanded, barely refraining from shouting in the Fuhrer's face. "You're not seriously accusing my Lieutenant of-"

Bradley shifted his weight and glared at Mustang. "Stand down, Colonel, and watch your tone. You are speaking to a superior officer." He paused, watching his men handcuff Hawkeye, who had a look of outrage on her face, though she was slightly more composed than her CO. "We have several eyewitnesses who saw Lieutenant Hawkeye at Central Command several minutes before you discovered Hughes' body, and as we have no other leads, right now she is the prime suspect. We are taking her into custody."

The Flame Alchemist's head was swimming. Riza? In Central? That wasn't possible. She had been at home, sick with a migraine…

Damn it all, it wasn't anywhere _near_ the realm of possibility! Hughes had been close to her as well; Riza loved him as a brother-in-arms – the three of them had survived Ishval together. The bond they'd come out with wasn't something that was easily broken, if it could be done at all. Not only did Hawkeye have no motivation to kill the man, but she wouldn't have been able to if she'd _had _to.

"I don't give a fuck what your witnesses say they saw, Lieutenant Hawkeye is innocent. Get your damn hands off her before I fry you bastards to a crisp!" Roy yelled. His hands were digging into his pockets, searching for gloves he knew weren't there. He was beginning to see red.

"Restrain him," Bradley ordered. He took hold of Hawkeye, whose eyes widened ever so slightly in fear. Whatever self-control Roy had left vanished.

"If you bastards touch _one hair_ on her head-" Roy began, stopping as one of the Fuhrer's men wrapped an arm around his throat, cutting off his air and silencing him. He felt his arms being pulled back sharply behind him, and he tried to disentangle himself from their grasp, to no avail.

"Sir," Hawkeye said quietly – a single word, but Roy could hear her plea in it. _Don't struggle; don't get yourself in trouble. We'll figure it out. Don't make a scene. Please._

He stared at her for a long moment; they held a conversation with their eyes. Hers pleaded with him; his could only gaze back in disbelief, and eventually a sort of fervent determination.

_I'll get you out of this mess, Lieutenant._

Roy forced himself to relax, thought it was only by a minute amount. The men on either side of him were causing him to lose oxygen; he was struggling to even breathe. Their grips loosened only slightly.

"Contain him until we're gone," Bradley ordered, ushering Riza out of the cemetery and towards a car that was unmistakably meant for the Fuhrer – the green flag of Amestris was positioned on every corner of the vehicle. It was loitering just on the other side of the fence that ran across the graveyard, meaning he'd had someone arrive just now to escort him and Hawkeye out.

He knew about it beforehand, Roy had just enough clarity to realize. He was planning this. But then why did he wait until after the funeral to arrest her, especially seeing that she didn't attempt to make a getaway? He must know she's not guilty.

_Something very wrong is going on._

* * *

"It was nice of Hawkeye to drive us all up here," Fuery piped up, trying to create any sort of small talk to fill the heavy silence among the men. "I mean, I know I wouldn't have wanted to sit for hours behind the wheel."

Breda shook his head. "Nah, she only did it because she doesn't trust any of us. She doesn't think we'd have survived the trip up here alone. Thinks we're kids."

"No, I'm certain Lieutenant Hawkeye knows that we're all adults," Falman asserted. "The only child they've ever permitted into the Amestrian Military is Edward Elric, and it's easy to judge by our heights, builds, and statures that-"

The redhead groaned and threw his hands in the air, frustrated. "Shove a cork in it, Falman. I wasn't being literal."

Havoc half-smiled. "Yeah, like Hawkeye says, you need to loosen up."

"Ironic, coming from her," Breda snorted.

"You got something against Lieutenant Hawkeye, Breda?" Havoc asked.

He shrugged. "No, I guess not. Although she _does_ always seem to get special treatment from the Colonel…"

Havoc shrugged. He'd noticed it too, but he didn't feel it was really something to gripe about. "Apparently they go way back. Hardly ever talk about it, but they've known each other since they were kids."

"Oh, so that's why she seems so used to babysitting him, then, huh?"

The blonde chuckled and punched him lightly on the arm. "Speaking of which, where are those two? They should be back by now; almost everyone's gone, and we can't leave until Hawkeye's back. She's got the keys."

Fuery, who'd been silent during the exchange, suddenly looked up. "She's probably with the Colonel still. I think he's having a really hard time…" he trailed off, knowing there was no need to finish that sentence. The group fell silent once again, a heavy weight bearing down on them almost tangibly.

Before the oppressive air that had overtaken the room could swallow them, the four mens' heads snapped up in unison at the sound of someone half-running towards them. Their faces all lit up in varying degrees of recognition at their commanding officer before realizing something was wrong.

"Sir, what-" Havoc began.

"No questions. You four, follow me. We're leaving. Now," he ordered, his voice ringing with authority. None of them dared question him; they were on their feet and out the door before a second thought could cross any of their minds.

The men piled into Mustang's car, rushing to get in and shut the door before the Colonel drove off without them. Mustang had told them not to ask questions, and none of them were about to violate orders, but one specific inquiry was practically printed on all their foreheads.

Where was Hawkeye?

* * *

**A/N:** I'm sorry! I know it's late, and short… and I really have no excuse, except that I'm a lazy author…

But anyways, please leave me a little review and let me know what you think so far!


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: **All content belongs to Hiromu Arakawa. I make no profit from this in any way, shape, or form.

* * *

Roy's blood hammered in his ears, his heart rate dangerously high.

His Lieutenant. How could they take his Lieutenant away from him? How could they arrest her? How could they accuse her of murdering _Hughes_?

The problem was, he knew _how_. Bradley could do whatever the hell he wanted, could give whatever heinous order he felt like giving. That was the reason Roy wanted to become Fuhrer, after all.

The real question was _why._

The Colonel's vision floated in and out of his mind's eye, unable to keep himself focused on the road. He was vaguely aware that he was speeding, but what did that matter, really? He was heading towards an area of Central that was nearly vacant this time of day. The likelihood of anyone else being on the road was slim.

When he pulled up to the bar, his men shuffled out of the car silently, knowing better than to disobey orders by asking their superior any questions. He hurriedly ushered them inside, his eyes scanning the alley for anything seemingly out of place. Roy quickly followed them in.

A large woman sat on a barstool, a cigarette in her mouth and a hand of cards in her grip. Opposite her sat a redheaded woman whom Roy had never seen before. Madame Christmas, his foster mother, blinked up at the band of soldiers, tensing for a split second before recognizing her nephew.

"Rather early in the day to swing a by a bar, Roy Boy," she rasped, blowing a puff of smoke away from their general direction. "Where's Elizabeth?" she asked.

Mustang could literally feel the mens' gazes on him; he was very aware that they all wanted to know the same thing. Every one of them knew who 'Elizabeth' was.

Roy stiffened. "Never mind that. Where's Katherine?"

If Chris noticed his unease, she didn't comment on it. "Miss her already? It's only been a few weeks, kid," she chuckled. It took every ounce of the Colonel's waning patience not to glare at his aunt. "She's out of town, kid. Some of her friends are here, though," she informed him, gesturing to the girl sitting next to her. "This is Angela. Mighty nice girl, Roy, I think you'll like her."

Roy took a deep breath – or tried, anyway. His very insides felt as though they were shaking, making it difficult for him to breathe. "Where are you from, Angela?" he asked, not in the mood for the usual introductions that society normally demanded. He didn't have time for this shit.

"Right here in Central, actually," the woman drawled. "I grew up on the uppity side of town; where I'm staying now, I got a nice view of the Fuhrer's mansion," she bragged, wiggling her eyebrows ever so slightly.

"Is that so," he deadpanned. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw several other women come down from the second floor, all dressed similarly to this Angela character. "Angela, I hope you'll forgive me for being so forward, but I would be ever so obliged if you'd let me buy you a drink, and perhaps take this upstairs…"

His men turned to stare at him almost simultaneously, and Roy could practically hear their thoughts. He'd driven like a bat out of hell from his best friend's funeral to hook up with prostitutes? And he'd taken _them_ with him?

"I suggest you make yourselves comfortable," he told them as the woman smiled and stood, making her way towards him. "Chris, why don't you introduce my men to your lovely guests?"

Madame Christmas shrugged. "Sure thing, Roy Boy. But you treat her nice, you hear me? She's a very nice girl," she repeated.

Roy faked a smile. "I'm sure she is." He brushed his way past Havoc and Fuery, who were flanking him, and offered his arm to the redhead.

"It's rather early in the day for drinking, officer," she giggled at him.

Roy had to restrain a scathing remark. "Colonel," he corrected her as nicely as he could manage.

Angela grinned at him, not fazed in the slightest. "Well, Colonel, what do you say we get down to business?"

* * *

Riza braced herself as rough hands threw her into a dank cell, her cuffed arms making it more difficult to catch her balance and not topple onto the floor. No other prisoners were contained in this cell; of course, most criminals these days were sentenced to execution.

The sniper went cold. If she was convicted of murdering the Brigadier General, there was no question in her mind what her fate would be.

She thought of the Colonel's eyes as Bradley's men restrained him, what he'd silently vowed for her. She didn't doubt him, not in the slightest. But she did fear the repercussions that could fall on him if he were to attempt to get her out, legally or otherwise (because she knew him, and she knew there was no guaranteeing his emotions would be stable enough to keep from simply going for a full on jailbreak.

_Don't get reckless, Colonel…_

* * *

"You there. Hawkeye."

Riza peered up, to the open door of her cell. She said nothing, merely made eye contact with the guard who'd spoken. She'd only been sitting there for an hour. They wanted her already?

"Let's go."

She stood silently. She knew she'd get no response if she asked questions.

She let him lead her out, a painfully firm hand on her arm. Riza sighed; she wasn't dumb enough to make a run for it, but she held her tongue.

The guard dragged her down a long series of corridors. Hawkeye made certain to remember the route, for even if she wasn't planning on making a break for it now, there was no telling if or when she might have to. A good soldier is always prepared for any turn of events. Seeing as she didn't know what the Colonel was planning just yet, she knew she had to keep every option open.

She was practically thrown into a chair when they reached their destination – a small white room with no windows, the only furniture being three chairs and a small, rickety table. There were cracks in the wood, and Riza could only imagine how many fists had been slammed on it.

"Where were you the night of Brigadier General Hughes' murder, Lieutenant Hawkeye?" the guard asked, his voice icy and rigid.

"At home with a migraine," Riza deadpanned. In a more serious voice, she added, "Colonel Mustang can verify my illness. He saw me that morning; he was the one who ordered me to stay home."

"Is there anyone who can verify that you _stayed_ home that day, Lieutenant?" he asked accusingly.

Riza faltered only for a moment. "N-no… one doesn't generally seek company when one is under the weather."

"Well, that's interesting, Lieutenant, because I have a witness who can verify that you were _not_, in fact, at home that night."

Her eyebrows furrowed; that wasn't possible. She _had_ been at home, no matter what the government said. Had they paid someone off to give false testimony? Had they _threatened_ someone to make him or her give false testimony?

The door opened, and Riza heard someone take a step into the room.

"Lieutenant Hawkeye?"

Riza's head snapped up at the voice. It came from a bespectacled woman who appeared a few years younger than herself; she was dressed in a military uniform, though merely judging by the fact that she wore a skirt instead of trousers, Riza felt it was safe to assume she was not a soldier. Upon closer inspection, she realized she knew the woman; she'd been under the late Brigadier General Hughes in the investigations department in Central. Riza hadn't the slightest idea what this woman had to do with the case against her, but then again, she couldn't even recall being in Central the night of her supposed crime.

"Have a seat, Private Sheska."

* * *

_Rather early in the day to swing a by a bar, Roy Boy._

The redheaded woman, whatever her real name was, took his hand.

**I thought you weren't coming for a few days.**

She sat them down on the nearest bed, shrugging out of her shawl.

_She's out of town, kid. Some of her friends are here, though. This is Angela. Mighty nice girl, Roy, I think you'll like her._

Her hands reached up to his jacket, pulling the fabric off his shoulders.

**She's on recon right now. I found this girl, Angela. She's got more than her fair share of intel, and as far as I can tell she's trustworthy.**

Roy grunted and closed his eyes, looking away from her.

_Where are you from, Angela?_

He felt her hands roam over him, feeling his body through his uniform.

**What circles do you travel in? Where are you usually?**

Finally, she pulled away from him, appearing satisfied.

_Right here in Central, actually. I grew up on the uppity side of town; where I'm staying now, I got a nice view of the Fuhrer's mansion._

"Are you finished?" he asked through gritted teeth.

**Most of my work is done here. I have a steep asking price, but it's worth it. I've got highly classified information.**

She offered an almost apologetic smile. "I'm sorry. They're coming up with all sorts of gadgets these days. I can't take any chances."

_It's rather early in the day for drinking, officer._

Roy nodded. "How much is this going to cost me?"

**If you waste your money on a drink, you won't have enough left over to get everything you want out of me. **

"What exactly do you need to know?"

"Tell me everything you can about the Fuhrer."

* * *

**A/N:** Sorry this chapter took so long; I was a little lost for which direction I should go with it. Also PLEASE tell me if the last bit was confusing. I was trying a new style but I don't know how well I succeeded. If it's too confusing I'll edit it to try to make it more clear. Basically the italicized lines are what was actually said, the bolded lines are the translations; they were speaking in code.

Please leave a review and let me know your thoughts!


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: **All content belongs to Hiromu Arakawa. I make no profit from this in any way, shape, or form.

**A/N:** There's a slight time skip between the last chapter and this one, about a few days or so.

* * *

Colonel Mustang tilted his hat forward, trying to inconspicuously cover his visage. He'd made a risky decision coming out tonight, but he was decidedly not in his right mind anymore. He had heard about Hawkeye's case throughout the last few days at work – it was all anyone talked about, and it pissed him off to no end – and, supposedly, the decision regarding her case was to be released today. True or not, Roy would find out for himself.

Having been reassigned to Central immediately following Hawkeye's arrest (in order for Bradley to keep a closer eye on him no doubt), he wasn't yet completely able to navigate his way around, and it had taken him about twenty minutes to locate an area he could pick up the local paper; twenty precious minutes he'd wasted driving himself insane with his need to know Hawkeye's fate. But he'd finally found the paper rack on the end of the street, and it took every ounce of effort he had not to break out into a full sprint and draw unwanted attention to himself.

Finally he reached it, the small, unimposing metal rack that held the answers he sought. There were only a few copies of the newspaper left, but one was all he needed. He grabbed the top issue, his eyes scanning the page for a picture, a headline, anything. After delving through a few pages, he found it.

**First Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye Convicted of First Degree Murder**

His heart stopped in his chest.

_Dammit!_ Roy yelled at himself, barely keeping the obscenity from passing audibly through his teeth. He couldn't afford to forget himself; if what his intel had said was true, he was being watched. An emotional explosion – and if he'd had his ignition gloves, a literal explosion – in the middle of the street was not conducive to staying out of the radar.

But the Colonel was falling apart. This had all happened too quickly – only a week ago, Hughes had been alive, and his Lieutenant had been by his side, where she should be. Whoever was behind this was going to be roasted alive.

Roy was almost afraid to read the article, a twisting knot in his stomach telling him he already knew what it would say.

_First Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye was convicted for the murder of the late Brigadier General Maes Hughes this morning by military trial; the case was decided by Fuhrer President King Bradley. Her sentence will be execution by firing squad. Lieutenant Hawkeye, represented _

Roy couldn't read any further; his insides threatened to force him to retch as it was. Cowardly though it was, he couldn't bear to read the details.

_I have to get her out of this. I promised I would. _

_They will not__ take my Lieutenant from me._

Roy threw the newspaper on the ground, turning on his heel and striding back to his apartment. He had a phone call to make, but to go to a phone booth would be absolutely out of the question.

He hated asking for help, and he knew the Lieutenant would be furious with him for jeopardizing his career with what he was about to do, but the Colonel squared his shoulders and made up his mind. After all, the entire point of his career was to achieve his goal of rising to the top, and that wasn't possible without both halves of their team. Abandoning her now would throw away their dream.

Abandoning her now would utterly destroy him.

* * *

_~Earlier that Day~_

Riza felt two sets of hands grab her and lift her off her seat; much as she hated to admit it, she even needed the help standing with her hands cuffed behind her back, as it threw her balance off. The guards weren't gentle, however – they dragged her out of the courtroom with no measure of care whatsoever. They hoisted her out of the courthouse, shielding her from the slimy gazes and unapologetic cameras being shoved at her from the reporters crowded on the steps. She knew this was mostly done out of the long-ingrained habit of avoiding the media; no one in the Amestrian military, save Hughes, seemed to be fond of cameras.

Hughes… the name formed a lump in Riza's throat. Admittedly, she hadn't been as close a friend to him as the Colonel, but she missed him all the same.

Riza shook her head. As devastating as his death had been, now was not the time for grieving.

She was shoved past the masses and thrown into a car, narrowly avoiding a faceplant with the rough fabric of the seat. As the car sped down the street, the driver turned on the radio, flipping to what must have been a private station. Riza heard a voice that sounded remarkably similar to the Fuhrer's come through. The signal was shaky, but amidst the jumble of noises, Riza could clearly make out two words.

They weren't taking her to prison. They were taking her to Laboratory Two_._

* * *

He hadn't been able to get a hold of Edward. Roy didn't want to risk his team getting involved - his intel had informed him that he and his entire team were under surveillance. But he was getting more desperate with each passing minute. He hadn't had the stomach to find out when the execution was to take place, but the Amestrian Military wasn't the sort to hold things off. He had a day, maybe two at most, to figure something out. And if he couldn't get a hold of Fullmetal and Alphonse, it looked like he would be on his own.

Roy's hands shook as he grabbed the nearest bottle by the neck, yanking the cork out of it throwing his head backwards and beginning to chug. Roy quickly realized it was empty, and his trembling increased with his anger. He let out a strangled yell as he violently threw it, barely wincing as the glass shattered against the wall.

"Now, now, Colonel. Watch that temper."

Icicles shot through Roy's veins.

He slowly turned around, his eyes scanning the dark room for the source of the familiar voice. And there he was, standing at the window overlooking this shitty corner of Central, his lips turned down and his visible eye glaring dangerously at him.

"What the _hell_ are you doing here?" Roy growled, taking a step closer to the man.

Bradley's frown seemed to deepen. "I'm here to give you a warning, Mustang."

"Like hell," Roy hissed, his hand moving for the holster he had hidden beneath his jacket. Before he made it halfway, his back was slammed against the wall, an arm at his throat and a face in his.

_We have reason to believe the Fuhrer is not human_.

At the time, Roy had wanted to demand his money back. Was the woman serious? Not _human_? What the hell else would he be?

Suddenly he realized that she may not have been that far off. Bradley had crossed the entire length of his apartment faster than Roy could lay a hand on his concealed gun, something that shouldn't have been possible.

"I know what you're planning, Mustang. You want to rescue your little damsel in distress," Bradley said, his tone dangerously low.

"Don't... talk... her..." Roy spat, having difficulty breathing with the surprisingly strong forearm lodged in his throat. He was sure he'd have bruises in the morning.

"I'm going to let you in on a little secret. She's not going to die just yet. Her death will be faked for the masses." He paused as Roy looked the man in the eye, his struggles suddenly ceasing. "If you want to keep her alive, you are going to keep your head down. You will tell no one that I was here tonight, and you will never reveal what I've told you. Do I make myself clear?"

In that moment it dawned on him._ This was never about her or Hughes' death. They're using her to get to me. _"What do you want?" he snapped.

Bradley smirked at him. "You're a smart man, Colonel Mustang," he said quietly. "We don't want anything from you yet. Right now all I want is for you to be good. Can you handle that?"

Roy struggled against him again, growing more and more desperate to break free. "I'll kill you," he growled.

"Then Hawkeye will die," Bradley said flatly. "And you'll get to watch."

And just like that, Roy was on his knees, collapsed to the ground. The Fuhrer had vanished, his threat still ringing in the air.

* * *

"Al, put it back. Didn't we just go through this? You can't keep it," Edward said, though his resolve was wavering.

In the suit of armor's arms was a small yellow bundle, mewling at Edward and pleading with him with its gigantic eyes. It wasn't the cat that was making him want to give in, though. It was his brother, who'd never owned a pet in his life, and seemed so determined to take something in to take care of, despite the fact that he knew full well they couldn't afford to take responsibility for it.

If it were possible, Alphonse would have looked extremely dismayed. "Aw, but Brother-"

"Wait." Ed suddenly held his arm out, Alphonse stopping in his tracks with a dull clank.

"What is it?" he asked quietly. He knew that tone.

There was a beat of tense silence before Edward took off running down the nearest alley, automail arm already in blade form. "Brother, where are you going?" Alphonse shouted after him. He quickly set the kitten down, briefly petting its head before following him, his metal feet clanking against the sidewalk. He came to a crashing halt as he saw what had put Edward on edge: standing in the middle of the alley was none other than Number 66, Barry the Chopper.

The psychopath's armored shoulders seemed to droop a little at the sight of him. "Aw, damn, not _you_ again! Shouldn't you be off wallowing in self-pity?" he yelled, agitated.

Al sighed. "You were wrong, Barry," he said simply, knowing what he was referring to. He'd tried to convince Alphonse that Edward didn't love him, that he wasn't real, that he'd been created and used to help Ed achieve his goal of restoring his own body. He didn't want to go down this road again; the brothers had just finally made up again, and he didn't want to fight with him again. They were all each other had, he realized that.

"Al, you know this guy?" Edward asked, disbelief creeping into his tone.

"Yeah. He was at Laboratory Five. He's like me; a soul in a suit of armor. He's really dangerous, Brother," he explained.

Barry seemed to be growing impatient. "Will you two stop chatting and hold still so I can hack you up?" he shouted.

"Like hell," Edward grumbled, leaning into a defensive stance.

"Brother, stop, let me handle this," Alphonse pleaded. "You've never beaten me bef-"

Before he could finish, Edward had taken off running full speed ahead towards the serial killer. Number 66 didn't seem particularly put off by it; at least, judging by the way he charged the short alchemist, he seemed to look forward to the challenge the boys presented him. Alphonse took a brief moment to shake his head before following him. "Ed, you're going to get yourself killed! You just got out of the hospital!" he yelled.

No sooner were the words out of his mouth than he heard a sickening grating of metal, followed by the too-predictable thud of automail falling to the ground.

"Dammit, Winry is going to kick my ass!"

* * *

Roy was trying his damnedest not to drink himself into a stupor. He had no way out until he found out what Bradley wanted from him, and who was a part of the "we." He hated not having a full scope of his enemy. And he hated not having his Lieutenant by his side. He didn't know how he'd done it, but the Fuhrer had figured out exactly where to push him, exactly which strings to pull to make him dance. Roy Mustang was always five steps ahead, but for once, he was now at the mercy of someone who had played him right into his hand. The Colonel had never in his life felt so entirely useless.

A yell coming faintly through his window interrupted his spiraling. Almost grateful for the distraction, he pulled himself up - he hadn't moved since Bradley had dropped him to the ground - and dragged himself across the room, not noticing the blood left on the ground from where he'd fallen on on the shattered glass strewn about his kitchen floor. He opened the window, and though he could see hardly anything, he heard a very distinctive voice that he recognized almost immediately.

"Stop being an idiot! I told you you couldn't handle him!"

"Alphonse," Roy breathed. Where the younger Elric was, Fullmetal was sure to be.

Suddenly, a flicker of hope sparked in his chest. If there was a God, He was finally showing him a bit of kindness.

Without a second thought, Roy grabbed his coat and slammed the door to his apartment behind him.

* * *

**A/N: **You wouldn't believe how much this story is kicking my ass... I knew from the get-go I wanted to involve Barry, but wasn't sure how to do it, since Riza would be in prison and therefore the scene between her, Hayate and him in an alley wouldn't get to happen. I had shoved it off to the side, deciding to worry about it later, and then I came to where Edward hears something in an alley, and Barry was going to be several other people before I realized I had a perfect opening to use him, and I'm actually thrilled about where his usefulness is going to go in the next chapter.

Also, you may have noticed, I changed the genre listing on this from drama and suspense to drama and romance (I really wish there was an action genre, because i think that's a better description, but oh well). I didn't mean for the Royai element to get so overpowering, but it did, and therefore I have listed it as romance. (What can I say, I can't help myself.)

Reviews are loved!


	6. Chapter 6

**DISCLAIMER:** Hagane no Renkinjutsushi and all related characters, events, and settings are property of Hiromu Arakawa.

**A/N: **(Comparatively) lots of Royai in this chapter, as well as mentions of slight grownup-girl bonding time. Also in this and coming chapters, I'm going to attempt to work with Ed and Roy's (**platonic**) relationship, with attempt being the key word. I'm not a fan of how it was handled in 03 or the manga/Brotherhood, and since this follows the canon timeline, I'm going to put my own twists and turns into their dynamic. Hopefully I don't screw it up.

* * *

Roy donned his ignition gloves than he could blink, having just remembered to turn around and grab them before rushing off to aide the Elrics. Turning down the dank alleyway that ran alongside his apartment complex, Roy held his gloved hands out before him, brandishing them as weapons. So far none of the three had noticed him, giving him an advantage on the boys' attacker. Edward stood behind his towering brother, fiddling with his mostly detached automail arm. He'd stripped himself of his signature red jacket, and it appeared he was trying to finish the break so as to not have an unresponsive metal limb dangling at his side.

Alphonse was, at the moment, fending off their assailant, who was armored as well, and wielding a sickeningly large butcher's knife that he seemed to carry with ease. The man let out a somewhat psychotic screech each time a blow was thwarted; Alphonse was not, under any circumstances, about to let bodily harm come to his big brother.

Roy's body froze up involuntarily as he was abruptly reminded of Hughes, images of the man lying stone cold in a pool of his own blood searing his mind's eye.

He would not let that happen again.

The moment Alphonse shifted in a way that cleared an opening, Roy snapped.

Both armored men jumped out of the way, Alphonse grabbing Edward by the flesh arm and yanking him alongside him. The brothers - well, at least, Alphonse - seemed relieved upon seeing that it was Roy who had come to their rescue. If he wasn't mistaken, the look on Fullmetal's face was suspiciously close to 'pissed off.'

The armed man threw his body against the brick wall, a strange, hollow-sounding clank resulting from the collision. He immediately righted himself, swearing loudly. As he got a look at the Colonel, he cursed again.

"Dammit, not more military jackasses! I_ just_ lost them-" he began, stopping to let out a yell as Roy snapped at him once more. "And an alchemist, too, oh that's just great!" he shouted sarcastically, clearly frustrated. He held his weapon out to the side, shrieking once before charging Mustang.

Roy was halfway into a third snap when Alphonse caught the man from behind, yanking his arms behind him and pushing him to his knees, effectively restraining him. Roy frowned.

"Who the hell are you, and why were you attacking my subordinate and his brother?" he demanded, striding closer to the man with his hands still poised like a finger on a trigger. "And just what exactly did you mean about the military?"

"This is Barry the Chopper," Alphonse informed him, not giving the man a chance to explain for himself. His metal body rustled slightly as he contained Barry's attempts to wiggle out of his hold and free himself. "He's a serial killer who was supposed to have been executed months ago. He was at Laboratory Five as a guard."

"A guard, huh?" Roy repeated, thinking over it carefully. Who had given him that job? And what was he guarding? He focused his gaze on the skull mask covering Barry's face. "How'd you escape _that_ fate? The military isn't quite that forgiving." Well, Roy amended silently, not towards those it considered to actually be criminals.

"Oh, really? As I recall it was the military who let me live. They handed me over to some whackjob scientist who ripped my soul out and shoved it in this tin can," he recounted. "The next thing I knew I was keeping people out of Laboratory Five."

The Colonel felt a chill sweep through him, and his gaze met Alphonse's, who was still pinning him down. The boy shrugged and said guiltily, "Oh yeah, and he doesn't have a body..." Edward, who stood beside him, simply sighed.

Roy fought the urge to make a scathing remark and turned his attention once again to the Chopper. "Who, exactly, ordered your release? Was it the Fuhrer?" Mustang demanded, recalling with a shudder the encounter he'd had with the man - or whatever the hell he was - only minutes ago. His suspicions about him were stronger now than they ever had been.

The man shook his head. "I don't know who ordered it, but it was some irritating busty chick without a uniform who carried it out. Long-ass hair and a freaky tattoo."

His description jogged an odd memory - Roy was suddenly reminded of the drawing Edward had made in the hospital; one he'd rightfully ridiculed. He looked to the young alchemist to watch the same look of recognition on his face. "So she_ is_ connected to the military," Ed muttered.

"You know her?" Barry asked, tilting his head up towards the boy.

Fullmetal rolled his eyes. "Yeah, kind of. She threatened to kill me," he said flatly.

"She's got freaky fingers, they grow and turn into knives," the Chopper said with a slight shudder.

Roy and the two boys registered this at the same time, their faces mirroring.

"You mean-"

"Is she _human_?" Roy blurted, his eyes boring into the serial killer. Suddenly he remembered himself, who had just been in his home, and shook his head. "Don't answer that." He turned to face the brothers. "Alphonse. Fullmetal. Is there somewhere safe we can take him right now?"

Edward blinked, sharing a look with his younger brother. After a silent exchange between the two, Alphonse said, "We can take him to the place we're staying at right now. But -"

Mustang didn't let him finish, impatient to get on the move. "That'll work."

* * *

Riza shivered.

She didn't know why they were so against holding with other prisoners, and while she might not have cared for the company, some additional body heat in such cramped quarters would have been greatly appreciated. She wore only a one-piece prison uniform, the one she'd worn to her trial; it didn't cover her arms and was hardly thick enough to keep the slightest chill out. If it had been hot in the room she was being detained in, Riza could deal. She'd spent nearly a year in Ishval, an arid desert which had whipped her with sandy wind and scorching sun. The sniper was used to the heat and knew how to handle it. At night, when the temperatures dropped, she would often find Rebecca sneaking into her tent to huddle for warmth, which had suited her just fine. Hawkeye had never really had to endure the cold, nor did she want to start.

The now former Lieutenant had been freezing her ass off in this cell for days. Well, no, it wasn't really a cell. She wasn't in prison. They had taken her to Laboratory Two and dumped her in a room about as big as a storage closet, tossing stale bread and a glass of water in every six hours or so to keep her alive.

She hadn't been told _why_ they were keeping her alive. She'd been stripped of her rank, her death had been faked, and they'd dumped her here and practically forgotten about her existence, leaving her with no sort of explanation. All she knew was that they had somehow manipulated evidence to find her guilty of Brigadier General Hughes' murder. Private Sheska had firmly insisted she'd seen her at Central Headquarters minutes before his death, but that simply wasn't possible.

Her head spun.

She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath and reviewing the methods she'd been taught in the military academy to resist mental breakdowns in situations such as these. Boredom was dangerous. Riza focused on recalling events, memories that spurred strong reactions.

Her earliest one was of her mother. From what she could recall, the woman had looked a lot like herself, though admittedly the memory might have been warped over the years to conform to a face Riza could easily generate in her mind's eye. However, she knew without a doubt that her mother's hair had been a shade reminiscent of her own.

After that were a few scattered pieces of that miserable time alone with her father, not abused but certainly not loved. She and Berthold Hawkeye had existed in a sort of strange limbo for several years, back and forth over an invisible line between strangers and enemies. That had been the loneliest time in her life.

And then _he_ came.

No matter where they might end up, no matter where this serpentine road they traveled led them to, Riza would unfailingly claim that Roy Mustang entering her life was the best thing that had ever happened to her.

It wasn't entirely the man himself that had provided such an powerful change in her life, if she was being honest with herself. It was what he had inspired in her to do, what he had unwittingly encouraged her to be. They were on a path to change their country for the better, the two halves of their tight-knit team swaying together with each rustle of the wind, holding steadfast onto one another and proving their worth time and time again. It had been at great cost to both their peaces of mind, as well as their consciences, that they had made it this far, but their goal still shone bright at the end of the tunnel.

Following him into the military had led her to the only real family she'd ever known. Their team was far from perfect, but they were as loyal to one another as she and Mustang were to each other. Breda, Falman, Fuery and Havoc were like brothers to her, military comradeship running deeper than was probably ever intended. She was thankful every day of her life for them, and in a way she was glad that it was her sitting on this freezing cement floor instead of one of them.

In the end, though it was hard to deny the very personal effect Roy had had on her. The parameters of their relationship had always been slightly tricky to define, but then, definitions hardly mattered when such absolute trust existed between them. Roy Mustang held a place in her heart that no other man could hope to occupy, even if her heart was considerably low on her list of priorities.

Riza opened her eyes with a small sigh and stared at the wall, deciding it might be better not to think.

* * *

Thinking back on it, it might have been a wise idea to let Alphonse finish his statement.

"Just what in the hell are _you_ doing here?" Ed yelled, his face bright red and his remaining arm flailing. The automail limb was currently on the ground - Fullmetal had dropped it at the sight of the long-haired boy sitting cross-legged at the table eating a rather thick chicken leg, a dark-haired girl swathed in black sitting across from him. She, at least, had the decency to look ashamed.

"We're eating dinner," the boy singsonged, proceeding to shove another mouthful in his face. Edward's rage seemed to be completely lost on him.

The short alchemist fumed. "Get your ass out of here before I-"

"Brother, enough!" Alphonse cut in. He and Roy were restraining the Chopper, who was being strangely apathetic about his predicament, though they weren't about to take their chances with him. "Ling, you can stay, but we need your help," he continued, clearly ready to take the reins from his older brother. "Lan Fan, you too. This man is extremely dangerous-"

"Why do you keep calling me a man? I'm no more of a person than you are, big guy," Barry interrupted.

Al pressed forward, pointedly ignoring him. "He's very dangerous, and we need all the help we can keeping him contained until we figure out what to do with him."

Ling stood, his friend rising to her feet the moment he did. "Why don't you hand him over to your military?" he asked, suddenly serious. "He'd be better off there than here."

Roy shook his head, speaking for the first time since they'd escorted Barry through Central, staying in the shadows as much as they could. "That's not an option right now," he stated, deciding not to give this stranger any more information than was necessary. As far as he knew they had no real reason to trust him. "Are you going to help us or not?"

The boy's narrowed eyes moved from him to Edward and finally to Alphonse, mulling it over. "You'll let me and Lan Fan stay here?" he asked carefully.

Edward gritted his teeth. "Yeah, fine," he announced defeatedly. "Just don't eat all our food or I'll kick your ass."

Ling grinned, all traces of seriousness suddenly out the window. "Nooo promises!"

* * *

The Chopper was tied to a chair, his restraints meticulously melted together and into the seat. Ling sat close by, a hand resting casually on the hilt of his sword; Lan Fan of course sat dutifully next to him. Edward and Alphonse stood beside Roy, who had seated himself directly in front of the serial killer, pelting him with questions the man couldn't be bothered to put much effort into answering. So far all they'd deduced was that the woman they had mentioned, the one from Fullmetal's drawings, was, in fact, not human; Barry had mentioned that he'd heard someone call her Lust, and that she had a sidekick she reffered to as Envy. Though he hadn't said so out loud, Roy confirmed to himself that Fuhrer Bradley was _probably_ as Roy suspected - inhuman, as well, though whatever these creatures actually were was anyone's guess.

Realizing they weren't headed anywhere useful down this train of thought, he switched gears, reaching a hand into his coat pocket. He pulled out a thick brown wallet, sifting through it to find an old photograph Hu- an officer had taken a few months prior. Roy removed it and held it up in front of the armored man.

"Do you recognize this woman?" he asked. The photo had several people in it - himself, Havoc, Fuery, and Brosh, who had happened to stop in at an inopportune moment, but the sole woman in it was his Lieutenant, at his side like she always was.

Roy clenched his teeth at the past tense. Was._ She'll be with me again_, he promised himself. Hughes had already been taken from him. He wasn't about to give up Hawkeye, not for anything.

Suddenly Barry spoke, snapping him out of it. "Hey, now, _there's_ a fine piece of meat," Barry said appreciatively, eyeing the photograph intently.

Without so much as a sound, in one fluid motion the Colonel drew his firearm and shot him in the face, one of the only places he could aim without risking getting hit by the ricochet. If he'd had a real, flesh body, Roy couldn't have promised he wouldn't shoot a place much further south.

Barry jumped out of his seat, the boys on either side of Roy flinching as well. "_Hey_! What the hell-"

"You will refrain from talking about Lieutenant Hawkeye in such a crass manner," Mustang growled, his expression dark. He hadn't lowered the gun. "Now answer the question."

The serial killer shook his head. "No, I haven't seen the dumb bitch, now will you let me-" he stopped, shouting again as Roy took another shot at him.

The Colonel managed to crack half a smile for a brief moment. "I could do this all day, Chopper," he remarked before his lips settled into a frown again. Suddenly he stood, motioning for the Elrics to follow him out the door. He spared a sideways glance at Ling, who kept his eyes trained on Barry, and at Lan Fan, who kept her eyes trained on Ling. A brief thought passed through his head that the girl might not want to display her affections quite so openly - he himself had done nearly everything he could to publicly distance himself from those he loved, and even still it hadn't done him any damn good.

He lingered outside the door, watching Edward use his remaining arm to close it behind him, his jacket fluttering uselessly around the hollow space where his automail ought to be. Alphonse watched him too, his metal face following his movements. When the door was shut, Fullmetal spoke.

"What are you planning, Colonel?" he asked, refusing to beat around the bush. He meant business.

"I'm going to find Hawkeye and get her to safety, wherever she is. Right now we don't know what these things are or how much of a threat they pose, but I have a hunch they're connected to Hughes and Hawkeye. If we can get her out she might be able to tell us something," he finished.

"We?" Edward fired back, not missing a beat. "You expect_ us_ to help you with a prison break?"

The Colonel bristled slightly, cursing his slip. "I don't expect you to - I know you're busy trying to find a way to get your bodies back, and I know what risk this puts you at - but I **am** asking for your help. I can't risk getting my core team involved because the Fuhrer has his eye on all of them." He paused, cursing the words, the plea, that was about to come out of his mouth. Slowly, he lifted his eyes to meed Ed's golden ones, seeing the way the boy's eyebrows pulled down. "I'm not going to order you as your superior, Edward. I am asking you as a man in need. I'm no longer concerned about my pride; if you want me to get down on my knees and beg for your help, I will," he begrudgingly admitted, trying to ignore the surge of doubt he felt at his own words. "I don't know what they're doing to her there, and I have no reason to believe they'll keep their word on keeping her alive. I'm out of options," Roy murmured, his voice breaking. His fists shook; he had to squeeze his eyes shut to keep the physical proof of his weakness from betraying him.

The brothers stared at him, mouths slightly agape. Their Colonel had never displayed such weakness, especially not in front of them. They had never seen him this beaten, this broken.

It was Alphonse who broke the silence.

"You love her, don't you Colonel?" he asked softly. He'd always been the more perceptive of the two; Roy had once favored him for that.

Mustang didn't look up at them for a long moment; when he did, his eyes were red. "Will you help me or not?" he demanded angrily.

Edward and Alphonse shared a brief look before nodding solidly in unison, both of them saluting despite the fact that Alphonse was not even in the military, let alone Mustang's subordinate, and Edward had to do so with the wrong arm. Nevertheless, the sight was enough to lift Roy's spirits, if only a little.

"Orders, sir?"

* * *

**A/N:** I'm sorry the chapters are slowgoing. I have no plans to abandon this, but finding the motivation to crank out the chapters in a timely fashion is difficult, especially with what feels like a small following.

Please leave some feedback, any comments or thoughts you have on this chapter. It'd make my day.


	7. Chapter 7

**DISCLAIMER:** FMA belongs to Arakawa.

**A/N: **This chapter is mostly filler, what with Ed getting his arm fixed and some Edwin thrown in just because I can. Again, I'm giving a shot at handling Roy and Ed's relationship – I want to develop it to where we can see some level of respect between them even on the surface; I was never satisfied with "somewhere deep down." Being the protagonist and a secondary protagonist I feel like their relationship should have been dealt with a little differently than that (I won't say better, but again I personally didn't like the way it was handled). I have secondary motivation, though; with Hughes having died on very recently and having lost Hawkeye shortly after, Roy needs someone to lean on and to have some level of closeness with. I feel that introducing a tighter bond between him and the Elrics satisfies both aspects.

* * *

"Edward, will you _please_ hold still!"

Through his teeth, he muttered, "I'm just trying to talk to the Colonel, Winry, calm down."

As soon as he said it, he knew he was lucky she didn't have a wrench on her. As it was, her glare nearly bore a hole through him. "You've been talking to him since you got here, Ed, you can wait ten damn minutes!" she shouted, squeezing his shoulder much harder than was necessary. Edward winced as he wondered if it was intentional or not.

"Arguing with him is more like it," Alphonse added, his own stress levels higher than normal from all the butting of heads he'd had to put up with since they'd come back to Risembool, leaving Barry the Chopper with Ling and Lan Fan in Central. Edward had wanted to send for his mechanic to come to them, but Mustang had insisted it was safer for all of them to travel out east, further from Bradley's gaze. Al could see how much he hated leaving Central – leaving Hawkeye – but he put on a brave face for anyone and everyone who cared to look. He hadn't dropped his walls once since the night he'd begged them for their help.

Alphonse also couldn't help but notice that Roy had completely avoided his question.

He shrugged it off for now, focusing on the matter at hand: Edward getting his automail fixed.

Barry had sliced it almost all the way through about halfway between the shoulder and elbow, and what he hadn't severed Ed had had to rip through. Edward still hadn't bothered to learn enough about the mechanics of his automail in order to make any sort of repairs on his own, and so he'd had to call Winry the moment he had a chance. Alphonse had to chuckle a little at the memory, Ed holding the phone at an arm's length away from his ear as Winry shrieked into the mouth piece about how she couldn't leave him alone for five minutes and how she and Granny hadn't even spent the money he'd paid for the last repair yet.

Since that moment Alphonse's life had basically consisted of dithering on whether or not to try to break up the constant fighting. Winry and Roy seemed to get along just fine, but whenever Ed was in the room – which was about ninety-five percent of the time – Alphonse couldn't hear himself think over all the bickering. He couldn't help but feel a little grateful that they were going to leave tomorrow, even if it meant saying goodbye to Winry and Granny again.

"Don't hold your breath, Ed, it's easier to work through the pain if you keep breathing," Winry scolded, noticing the way his expression screwed up, just waiting for her to connect the nerves.

He gave a terse nod. He wasn't really listening, and she could tell.

The girl rolled her eyes. "Fine, ignore me," she retorted, adjusting her hands to ready herself. "All right, Ed, are you ready?" she asked, not bothering to wait for a response. "One, two, thr-"

"Augh!" Ed's pained voice interrupted, tensing up and throwing his head back. "Dammit," he hissed under his breath. After a long minute of silence diluted only by his heavy breathing, he slowly sat up, flexing his fingers and wrist. He sighed. "You'd think I'd be used to this by now," he muttered quietly, more to himself than anyone else.

"But you can move all right? Everything feels okay?" Winry prodded, her eyes wide with no small amount of concern. As much as she acted like Ed's existence drove her up the wall – which, to be fairly honest, it did from time to time – she worried obsessively about him. Neither of the Elric brothers were fooled into thinking she didn't care about them, but Al at least could see that she held Edward in her heart in a different way, something other than what she felt for the boy in the suit of armor.

The alchemist nodded, sliding down onto his feet. He wordlessly began stretching again, flexing each mechanical joint and making large sweeping motions from his shoulder. Seemingly satisfied, he looked up, making eye contact with Mustang. "Do you want to take this outside?" he asked, referring to the conversation they'd been having shortly beforehand. It had started to get heated when Winry interrupted, just like their talks had been doing throughout all five days they'd spent in Risembool and on the train ride there. It would be better for everyone if the two of them weren't blowing up at each other with present company.

The Colonel opened his mouth to respond, but his eyes shifted focus for a moment and something suddenly seemed to change his mind on whatever he'd been about to say. He shook his dark-haired head slowly, reaching into his pocket. "Actually," he started, pulling out his wallet, "I have a better idea." Edward's eyes widened as he saw the man take out a decent lump of money, extending his hand towards the boy. "Go get dressed; you're taking your girlfriend out to dinner, on me."

Alphonse couldn't stifle the laugh he felt coming as Ed's face turned twenty different shades of red. "She's _not my girlfriend_, you dumbass _idiot_!" he shouted, his limbs flailing in the air as he tried to make his point. Mustang joined Alphonse, chuckling at him.

"That wasn't a request, Fullmetal, it was an order. Now go put some damn pants on," he demanded, pointing towards the door. "I've seen more of you today than I ever need to again."

He didn't wipe the dumbfounded look from his face; he simply stood gaping at his commanding officer, the color of his face still resembling a tomato. He spluttered for a few moments, eventually coming up with one coherent "But-"

"Do as he says, Ed," Alphonse interjected, not bothering to hide the amused tone in his voice.

The boy dragged his feet across the wooden floor, not daring to glance back at Winry for fear of what her expression might possibly be registering at the moment. He was mortified – ordered to go on a date by his superior officer? What the hell?

When he was gone, Winry looked at Mustang with an odd look; it fell somewhere between anger and utter shock. "What the hell was that about?"

"Winry, you've been spending too much time around Ed. You never used to swear this much," Alphonse told her, his tone bordering on a scold.

She ignored him, already on a full-blown steamroller over Mustang. "He's not going to look at me all night now, thanks to you! Half an hour ago I at least thought I could count on being able to talk to him a little bit before he left again, but now that's ruined! Why the hell did you do that? Who gave you the right to make orders about Ed's personal life?" she yelled at him.

Roy stood, unfazed by the girl's shouts. "Relax. Edward _will_ behave himself tonight. If not, I get an excuse to fry him up for lunch," he quipped, a small smirk on his face. "I really do enjoy shrimp," he added, though the joke was somewhat lost without the punch line around to blow a fuse at it.

Winry's lip curled in frustration, though the set of her shoulders relaxed by a small degree. "Fine," she growled. "But I'm holding you personally responsible if anything bad happens."

Roy threw a self-satisfied smirk at Ed as he watched him leave with Winry; both of them had dressed up, and if he wasn't mistaken, Winry was wearing a little bit of makeup. Edward turned red and ignored him, leading the girl beside him down the dirt path into town.

"If they don't name one of their kids after me I'm going to throttle both of them," Pinako rasped flatly before turning and calling Den to come into the house with her. Alphonse laughed; he knew she'd been waiting for this longer than he had. He knew nothing much was likely to come of this – neither one of them was ready for things to get serious, and Edward had too many other things on his plate besides – but he hoped they would at least enjoy themselves tonight.

Al took a seat beside Roy on the porch, sensing that he needed to talk. He didn't poke or prod into whatever was bothering him, merely restating the question Winry had demanded of him earlier. "Why did you do that, Colonel?" he asked.

The man sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I think he and I have done enough fighting this week; the kid and I need a break from each other." He paused, not looking at the towering boy. "Don't think that I'm not grateful to you two for what you're risking for me. I am. But Fullmetal and I… we don't mix well. You know that. I know that. He knows that. It's not exactly a secret," he finished quietly.

"It's because you're both so stubborn," Al supplied. "With all due respect, Colonel, you're the adult. You could stand to act like it every now and then," he said quietly.

Roy sighed. "I'll keep that in mind," he muttered. "But that wasn't the only reason I did what I did."

Alphonse turned to look at the man wordlessly, waiting for him to finish. With how distant he'd been over the course of the week, he was afraid of pushing him too far.

"It's pretty easy to see how much that girl likes him, and vice versa, even if they won't admit it," he finally continued. "I wanted to do something for Fullmetal, to find a way to thank him. If we manage to rescue Hawkeye, I'll owe both of you everything." He turned his head to the side, eyeing the boy. "Is there anything I can do for you, Alphonse? I don't enjoy being a man in debt."

Alphonse laughed. "There's really only one thing I want, Colonel, but I'm not in a rush to get it if other people need help first. And it's not your place to worry about it," he added.

The Colonel scratched the back of his head. "There must be something I can do for you, though. If you need money or-"

"No, Colonel, really. I'm fine. I just want to focus on getting Hawkeye back," he said, his voice cracking oddly.

Roy faced him full-on then, watching the suit of armor carefully, noticing the way he squirmed slightly in his seat. He stared for a long moment before he grinned deviously. "Well, look at that. The kid has something of a crush on my lieutenant," he snickered.

Al ducked his head, and if it were possible for a metal suit of armor to blush, Roy would have sworn he was doing just that. "N-no, that's not it, I-"

The man slapped him lightly on the shoulder. "Come on, don't lie to me. You have a crush on Hawkeye, admit it," he prodded, a half-smile still on his face.

"I..." he trailed off, still not looking at him. "You're not mad?" he asked timidly.

Roy's eyes flashed. "Are you planning on sweeping her off her feet after making a daring rescue?"

"N-no..."

"Then no, I'm not mad."

* * *

Riza lifted her head quizzically as she heard steps approaching her pathetic excuse for a cell. She'd only been fed a few hours ago; certainly they weren't going to be that nice to her?

A small voice in the back of her mind whispered fearfully that she might be in for a bout of torture.

She didn't get the chance to explore that train of thought any further before she heard whoever was out there stop directly in front of her door. They were light steps; Riza wanted to say they were feminine.

After days of solitude and utter silence, Hawkeye felt bold enough to stick her neck out; any sort of interaction would alleviate the boredom, the stress. "Who's there?" she called, her voice betraying no timidity.

There was a long pause before she heard a metal scraping noise, and suddenly the door was pushed open. Standing in front of her was a tall woman with hair that reached her calves; she was clad in elbow-length gloves and a floor-length dress. What particularly caught Riza's eye, however, was a striking red tattoo centered just below the hollow of her neck. She couldn't help herself. She stared.

"If you're done ogling me I'll answer your question," came the woman's sultry voice, a few drops of sarcasm leaking into her tone. When Riza tore her eyes from the marking on her pale flesh, she met a dark violet gaze. "My name is Lust; I work with the Fuhrer. And just so we're clear, I don't like you," the woman said evenly, her voice low.

"Why am I here?" Riza demanded, ignoring the insult.

Lust raised an eyebrow. "Would you rather we executed you?"

The former soldier blinked, ducking her head slightly. "Of course not."

"Then don't complain. Be happy we spared your pathetic life," the woman spat.

The words flew out of her mouth without any thought, her voice bordering on a shout. "What have you done to Colonel Mustang?" She wasn't sure where the question had come from, but as soon as it passed her lips, Lust stiffened, and she knew she'd been right to ask it.

"What makes you think we've done anything to him?" she snapped, but her hesitation had given her away. Whether she would admit it or not, Mustang was a part of whatever larger plan was at work.

Riza's eyes narrowed. "You know I'm not guilty. You're using me to get to him. I don't know why, but you are."

Lust held eye contact with her for a long minute before she smirked, a simpering laugh passing her teeth. "Well, that wasn't exactly the intention, but it does appear to have turned out to be a side effect. You'll be happy to know your Colonel is losing his mind over you." She cocked her head slightly to the side before continuing, "If you're trying to get a monologue out of me about our plans to end the world, your efforts are wasted. You might want to try it on one of the men; they're much easier to coax into boastful diatribes."

Hawkeye desperately fought off the feeling of her heart sinking in her chest. "Who is this _we_?" she tried.

At this, Lust's face broke into a large, sinister grin. Wordlessly, she lifted an arm, her index finger pointed towards Riza's face. There was only about a foot of space between her fingernail and Hawkeye's nose, but the space was quickly breached, the appendage suddenly extending and morphing into a blade-like extension of the woman's body. Her eyes instinctively flew shut, but after a few moments of heart-pounding silence, after she realized she had not been stabbed, she warily peered up at the woman - at the creature. That twisted grin still sat on her blood red lips.

"_We_," she murmured eerily, "are more than you bargained for when you first donned your uniform, Lieutenant. You would have been better off as Mustang's good little housewife. At least then you wouldn't have had to suffer in silence for months on end before you were killed."

* * *

**A/N:** So not a cliffhanger this time, but still some ~drama~. Because drama is always a good time.

Just in case anyone gets genuinely worried, this is not going to turn into an Alphonse/Hawkeye story, nor will there be any serious elements of it; I just saw the opportunity to work in a harmless little crush and I couldn't resist... because let's face it, it's adorable.

Review, s'il vous plait :D


	8. Chapter 8

**DISCLAIMER:** Fullmetal is Arakawa's.

**A/N:** I'm sorry it took so long to get this out. I've been busy procrastinating.

No but in all honesty I did just get a new job recently, and I've had to crack down on schoolwork, which partly explains the delay in writing. Hopefully the chapter still holds up to standards. And I keep forgetting to mention this, but these chapters are all completely unbeta'd, so if you spot any mistakes (I'm sure there are plenty), or if something is unsatisfactory, please don't hesitate to point it out to me, either in a review or over PM. I'd really appreciate it.

* * *

It was dark by the time they got back into town. Fullmetal's face was almost comical in its look of relief as the train slowed to a stop and the trio stood. The blond runt seemed to push his way through the other passengers, paying absolutely no mind to their protests. Roy guessed that would not have been the case had someone let a "pipsqueak" or "shrimp" escape their lips.

When their feet finally hit the platform, Ed nearly fell over - he managed to catch himself at the last second. "Damn, I'm glad to be out of there! Way too many people, not enough space," he announced, obviously not caring who overheard.

"You never used to hate train rides this much, Brother," Alphonse commented. "Is something wrong?"

He shrugged. "I dunno, I just got a weird feeling once we started getting closer to Central. And the train really _was_ claustrophobic," he muttered mutinously.

Mustang stopped. He'd been content to sit quietly on the train ride back into town, not saying a word to either boy. He was too distracted, too weighed down to offer much in the way of conversation. What he hadn't said to the brothers was that he'd been feeling something weird - something _wrong_ - for several hours. Apparently Fullmetal had felt it too, and like himself, had opted to stay mum on the matter.

Just as Roy opened his mouth to add to Edward's statement, he felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up, and a sickening chill ran through him. Freezing for half a moment, he shifted forward slightly, his fists clenching at his sides. Eventually he managed, "You two go on ahead without me, I'll catch up." His tone left no room for a rebuttal.

When the platform had emptied and the train had gone, Mustang turned slowly, the pit in his stomach still twisting strongly. He stared into the darkness for a long moment before a small figure appeared. It took the man a few moments to recognize the boy, as he'd only ever met him once, when he was a bit smaller.

"You're the Fuhrer's son," he murmured. It wasn't a question, but the grin on the child's face confirmed it. Roy suppressed a shiver. "And if he's not human, I take it you aren't either."

When the boy spoke, it came out almost as a hiss, and to Roy's surprise it wasn't merely one voice that passed his lips, but several. "That is correct. But you don't know what we are, do you?"

Roy merely shook his head, careful not to display the sudden hope he felt at the prospect of finally getting some answers.

The picture the boy painted him was not a pretty one. Whatever his human alias was, he didn't say, though Roy could assume his surname was Bradley. He was told to call him Pride. And though it wasn't said outright, it was implied that Roy ought to be frightened of him, the first of the homunculi, supposedly mythical creatures whose existences were sustained through Philosopher's Stones. He explained that that was how the Fuhrer - Wrath - had been created. His soul had been fused with the Grand Elixir.

The fabled monsters Roy had only caught small mentions of in Berthold Hawkeye's textbooks were much more real than he would have believed possible. They held his beloved country in their demon grips. The fate of one Riza Hawkeye was entirely at their mercy.

Roy felt sick.

"Why are you here?" Roy demanded when Pride had finally fallen silent, his stomach still curdling at the images in his head. Human-based homunculi weren't high up on his list of things he was prepared to deal with. "Did you just come to harass me and assert your own ego?"

Pride feigned an offended look. "Of course not. My father went out of town a week ago, and he's coming back on the next train. I'm waiting for him. You simply happened to run into me. But it _is_ convenient, I'll admit," the dark-haired monster grinned. "Now you know how closely we're watching you. I would highly suggest you watch your step, Colonel."

Roy stared him down for a long moment before smiling smugly. "I have to go. Give your father my regards."

* * *

One.

_Don't talk._

Two.

_Don't think about the Colonel._

Three.

_Don't give up._

Four.

_Don't scream._

Five.

_Repeat._

* * *

"I_ knew_ it!" Edward slammed his fist down on the table. They were back at the room the boys were temporarily renting out, Barry still tied up in the corner. He and Ling had become oddly acquainted while they were gone. "If you didn't have us already, Colonel," Ed continued, "you could count us in. Now we know they have a philosopher's stone, maybe more than one, and they must be able to make more."

"So you're going after it? You do remember how they're made, don't you?" Mustang asked darkly, his tone almost accusatory.

Fullmetal froze for a moment, a flash of something crossing his face; it passed too quickly for his commander to be able to identify it. "Of course I do," he snapped. "But that's the only option we have right now, and maybe if we track it down we'll find another answer, another way to make it."

Normally Roy would have laughed at that, but he could only muster up a sigh. "Your idealism is going to be a pitfall one day, kid. Trust me."

"Yeah, how would you know? Morally bankrupt Colonel with a god complex," the blonde muttered.

Roy ignored the insult, well used to the name calling after having known the boy for over three years. "Do you really want to know? It's not exactly a bedtime story," he said matter-of-factly. Ishval wasn't a story to tell children, period, but then these boys hadn't been children since their mother had died.

Alphonse, who had been silent up to this point, suddenly turned his head from where he'd been looking out the window. "No, you don't have to, Colon-"

"No, I want to hear it," Edward interrupted. "If this guy thinks he can go around telling me what my faults are he can damn well tell me what gives him the right."

"I never said it was a_ fault_," Roy corrected him. "Being an idealist in and of itself isn't a bad thing. It's when you're so blinded by it that you can't face reality that it gets you into trouble." He cleared his throat. "I know you won't want to hear this, Fullmetal, but you and I are more alike than you might think."

Almost as if on cue, Ed's body stiffened and his face went red, his golden eyes bugging out of his head. "Like hell we are! I'm _nothing_ like you, you arrogant, lazy bastard!"

Mustang fought the urge to rise to the bait. His nerves were fried as it was - the last thing he needed was another blowout with this runt of an alchemist. "Shut up," he said quietly, his tone hard. "And let me finish." After a brief pause, he asked, "Do you remember the day I assigned you to go after the Freezing Alchemist?"

The boy blinked, pausing for a moment before nodding.

"What did you tell me when I said the Fuhrer wanted him dead or alive?"

Without missing a beat, Edward shot back, "I told you I wasn't going to kill anyone for you. I'll never take a human life," he swore vehemently.

Roy's gaze met his solidly. "I said the same thing when I enlisted in the military. Of course," he amended, "to me, enemy soldiers didn't fall within the parameters of that oath. In my mind, felling an enemy was saving the life of someone I loved back home. I wanted to protect those I cared about. But good intentions aren't an excuse.

"In the beginning, we were only fighting against other troops. But when Bradley issued Order 3066, it threw out all the rules. Suddenly it wasn't a war anymore. It was full-blown genocide." The Colonel stopped, seeing the blood drain from Edward's face and the frame of Alphonse's tin body freeze.

"You... you killed _citizens_?" Fullmetal whispered, looking as though he were going to be sick. "Women... children..?"

"Yes," he answered, unflinching. "I did." He nearly added that so had Hawkeye, Hughes, and Armstrong, but that would sound too much like he was trying to make himself sound less guilty, and that was something he'd never had any interest in doing. He'd often been accused of shouldering too much blame for what had happened during the massacre, but as the Hero of Ishval, if he spent the rest of his life trying to attain atonement he'd still never earn it. "The State decided the best use of my alchemy would be to deal massive blows to the Ishvalan population. I complied with my orders like a good soldier," he finished bitterly.

Before he knew what hit him, Roy was falling backwards. It took a moment for the pain in the right side of his face to register - Fullmetal had hit him with his heavy metal arm, something that would without doubt leave blue and purple marks on his skin.

"Brother!" Alphonse shouted, jumping to his feet. He moved to pull his older brother off the man but was shrugged off. "Dammit, Ed, you can't just go around punching people you don't like!"

"Try and stop me," he seethed at him. They glared at one another for a long moment before Alphonse stepped back. "Fucking _bastard_," Edward spat, his attention refocused on the Colonel, who had yet to right himself. "I always knew there was a reason I didn't like you. You're a goddamn _murderer_."

"He was just following orders, Brother," Alphonse interjected, desperately trying to salvage the situation before someone really got hurt. "You can't blame him for that."

"I'll blame him for whatever the hell I want to blame him for! He could have left the army, could have done... something. Anything else but that."

"Yes, I could have," Mustang agreed quietly. "Armstrong did."

Edward's eyes widened at that, caught off guard. "Armstrong was in Ishval?"

The Colonel nodded, finally pulling himself upright again. He doubted Fullmetal would strike him again, though it was still a possibility. His fuse was shorter than his full body height. "Yes," he repeated. "And so were Hawkeye and Hughes," Roy finished, deciding the boys might as well know. "Major Armstrong was strong enough to do what the rest of us couldn't - he put down his weapons and refused to fight. He was punished with a permanent demotion."

At that, Edward grew furious again. "If he did it, why didn't you? You _knew_ it could be done and you kept fighting!" he yelled.

"I made a choice, Fullmetal. I could ease my own guilt and quit, and never rise any further in the ranks, or I could keep fighting, keep killing, so that one day I could prevent another massacre from ever happening again. Because even if I had thrown my gloves down, someone else would have simply filled my shoes. No fewer people would have died had I given up." Roy paused, refusing to wither under Edward's glare. "If it makes you feel better, if all goes as planned, I'll be executed in about twenty or thirty years," he said, his tone sardonic. Before either brother could respond to that, he continued, "But that wasn't the point of the story. The point is that had I not been so idealistic about war going into it, I would've seen that there were very unscrupulous motives behind it, and I could have spared myself this road. I don't want to see that happen to anyone else if I can help it. Not even you," Roy admitted.

Edward blinked at that, and to Roy's surprise, sat down again, Alphonse following suit. Both boys fell silent, apparently speechless.

Satisfied that he'd gotten his point across, Roy stood, brushing his coat off and making for the door to what had temporarily been deemed his bedroom. "By the way, Fullmetal," he added, "if you _ever_ lay a hand on your commanding officer again, I will personally see to it that you are court martialed."

* * *

Riza was nearing the point where concern over her sanity was warranted.

She'd lost count of the push-ups hours ago, though she was fairly sure she'd stopped doing sit-ups around 600. She wanted to throw up, but relied on whatever strength she had to to restrain that urge, as it would be several hours still before she was escorted to a restroom and she had absolutely no desire to live in her own filth. Hostage or no, Riza was adamant that she preserve what little dignity she had left.

Her limbs were nearly numb, having passed the point of pain some time ago. The amount of nutrition she was taking in did not add up with the exertion she gave out. When she wasn't eating or working herself past the point of coherent mental processes, she was asleep. It was physically uncomfortable in the small quarters she occupied, but her exhaustion prevented any dreams - or nightmares - from occuring, and she was glad to have that much. Her waking state was already filled with mental torture. Sleep had become a welcome escape.

Lust had not come to speak to her again, nor had anyone else. Until that changed, Riza was completely in the dark. She was coming to awful conclusions - maybe it involved Flame Alchemy, maybe someone higher up had found out about Mustang's ambitions and considered him a threat - but they were all she had to go on. Lust had been kind enough to prove that this had much to do with the Colonel, and Riza had a feeling that her sole purpose in this mess was to be used against him.

Knowing this, Riza had briefly contemplated taking her life. If they were using her wellbeing to keep him in check, her death would mean he was free to act against them unrestrained. Her reservations against this were that he had just lost Hughes, and to end her own life would be cruel to him if he cared for her as much as she had been led to believe. And if she was somehow wrong - that her detainment was for some other purpose - well, she wouldn't chance it until she knew for certain. She had no desire to die until Roy was either Fuhrer or dead.

* * *

As it turned out, Barry's usefulness had not entirely run its course. And thankfully, during their leave of absence, Ling had developed some odd sort of bond with him. He was a little easier to deal with, at least.

While there was no way to be sure where the Lieutenant was being held, Barry seemed to have a feeling that Laboratory Two was their best bet. It was the only other Lab he'd seen aside from Five, and if top-secret military experiments were allowed in, it was likely that Two had become the backup now that Five was a pile of rubble.

Before the six of them lay a large sheet of paper, the pencil moving sloppily in Mustang's hand as Barry described the layout of Laboratory Two. He admitted straight out that he'd only been in it once and some of the details might not be entirely accurate. According to him, it was largely the same as Lab Five; Mustang was already considering recruiting Barry to come along when they finally (_finally_) attempted Hawkeye's prison break. He could prove very useful in keeping their bearings straight. Once they were in, time would be of the essence. It wouldn't do to get lost.

As the Colonel set the pencil down, he felt five pairs of eyes shift towards him. He ignored their gazes, ingraining the map in his memory should he need to know his own way around.

Alphonse was the one to break his concentration. "What's the plan, Colonel?"

Roy sighed, tearing his eyes away from the map. "The plan," he answered, "is simple. We break in, search the place, and get Ri- Hawkeye out before anyone gets hurt. I will not be forgiving anyone who gets themselves injured or killed. Understood?"

The answer came in unison.

"Sir."

* * *

**A/N:** I had a little bit of trouble writing the scene between Roy and the boys; it's difficult to tell a story that's been told in canon without being terribly redundant. Obviously I couldn't change any details of the story of Ishval itself [the limits of AU don't stretch quite that far in this case], but I did make changes to the intent of the storytelling session. Hopefully the dynamics between Roy and Edward and Riza and Edward vary enough in the way the scene played out that it was still somewhat interesting to read.

Thank you so much to everyone for all the support thus far, if not for you, I probably would have given up writing this thing a long time ago. We've still got several chapters to go, I want to say four at the least. Please leave a review and let me know your thoughts so far!


	9. Chapter 9

**DISCLAIMER:** Fullmetal is Arakawa's.

* * *

The sky was still black, though a sliver of deep blue sat on the horizon, peeking between the skyscrapers of Central City. A wind tossed its way through what parts of Lust's hair was exposed, tangling the black strands. It was too early for any signs of life to stir, yet she still held a cloak to her body to conceal her face, and the Fuhrer, who stood beside her, wore a disguise.

Her voice carried across the ruins before them, echoing against the debris. "Is it salvageable?"

The crease in Wrath's brow deepened. "It's a little late to be asking that, isn't it? It's been weeks."

Lust lifted an eyebrow. "The cellar, the one that was still under construction - how long would it take to finish it?"

"It would take more time than we have." The creature paused, turning towards its sister. "Are you _actually_ considering it?" At her silence, he sneered, "Do you really have such little faith in your own talents? Do you doubt the rest of us?"

"With all due respect,_ Fuhrer_," Lust spat, crossing her arms, "I believe your son is rubbing off on you. This is not about pride, yours or mine. Alchemists who are capable of crossing the Gate and coming back alive are rare, and I am not about to take unnecessary risks on not just one, but _three_ near-perfect candidates just to give you the chance to validate whatever's left of your manhood. Tell me, is it as bad at regenerating as the rest of you when it takes a blow?"

That seemed to strike a nerve. "You are treading a thin line, Lust," he growled.

She rolled her eyes, unamused. "I'm shaking," she deadpanned. "You forget your place, Wrath. You have no more power than any one of us. Your human title means nothing; you would do well to remember that."

Wrath took a step back, though Lust didn't miss the way his hand twitched towards the hilt of one of his swords. "Envy does not become you, my dear," he replied evenly. "It's an ugly emotion, and you are one of the fairer sins."

"Please. If you really think I envy your control over meaningless human politics, then perhaps you really are growing senile. It's a shame your mental state is deteriorating as rapidly as your physical body."

"It's not the power you want, though, is it?" he asked sagely, ignoring her stabs at his ego. "You want the freedom I have. You hate it here, don't you? You hate being trapped underground, hidden from the world."

His presumptuous attitude grated at her. "Don't forget that I've lived f_our_ of your lives," Lust hissed. "I've walked as much of this earth as I can stand to look at. Humans pollute this planet with their very existences, and I hate sharing it with them. What I _want_ is not the freedom a position like yours has to offer." With that, she threw the hood of her cloak over her head and turned sharply on her heel, leaving the Fuhrer standing alone before the remains of the fifth laboratory.

Somewhere in the distance, a bird chirped.

* * *

"You all right, Chief?"

Roy blinked, turning from the window to face his blonde Lieutenant. Not the one he'd prefer to see, of course, but there were worse alternatives. "Yeah, I'm fine," he muttered, a little too late. "Do you have that report I asked for this morning?"

With a slight nod, Havoc tossed the paperwork on the desk, almost surprised when instead of tossing it in a pile, Roy actually began looking it over. Jean sighed, his hands falling into his pockets. "Sir, pardon me but something's wrong. I know I'm not a genius but it doesn't take a lot of brains to see that."

Roy gave him a hard glare. He knew he had been... different, since Hawkeye had been kidnapped, and especially since the transfer. But Havoc didn't have the right to call him out on it, and certainly not today, when sticking his nose where he shouldn't was more dangerous than it had been since the night Hughes was shot.

Eventually he managed, "My First Lieutenant and bodyguard was recently executed, Havoc. Forgive me if I'm not quite as chipper as usual," he told him, sarcasm dripping from his tongue.

"Bullshit."

Mustang raised an eyebrow. "Excuse me?" he questioned, his voice dangerously low.

"I said bullshit, sir," Havoc repeated in confidence. He'd never taken shit from his boss - not that it had ever been a huge issue - and he wasn't about to start now. "You're lying through your teeth, I can tell." At the barely-concealed shock on his commander's face, he continued, "Hawkeye's not dead, and you _know_ it. She wouldn't just roll over and die, Chief."

Before Roy could even think to offer a response, the door to his office flew open, and the rest of his team came trailing in from lunch. Fuery was the first to notice the tension between the two men standing at Roy's desk, followed by Falman and Breda. The trio froze, their eyes locked on them.

"S-sorry, sir, were we interrupting?" Fuery asked timidly, his voice squeaking just slightly.

"No," Havoc said, throwing a glance at Roy, daring him to correct him. "In fact, I think you all should be part of this too." The Lieutenant waved them in, his blue eyes never leaving his superior.

Roy nearly growled at him. "You forget your place, Lieutenant Havoc."

"What's goin' on, boss?" asked Breda, looking distinctly more at ease than his comrades, both of whom were several steps behind him.

"Nothing," Mustang snapped, his darkened eyes never leaving the blonde opposite him. "Havoc, I think you ought to take the rest of the afternoon off." It was worded as a suggested, intoned as an order.

Jean merely shrugged. "Works for me. Gives me more time to hash things out."

At this point the peanut gallery was sweat dropping. "Colonel, if something-"

The Colonel ignored Fuery. "Hash what out?"

"A game plan for getting Hawkeye back, assuming you don't have one already. But I can't imagine you'd just sit on your hands and let fate have its way with your best friend." The knowing smirk on his face told Roy he knew he'd won.

A half-angry, half-defeated sigh pushed its way past Roy's gritted teeth. He returned to his seat beside the window and cast his gaze out it. "Perhaps I don't _want _you involved," he countered. "Did that ever occur to you, Second Lieutenant Havoc?"

"Too bad." When Roy shot an incredulous look at him – Havoc _never_ stepped so far out of bounds – something akin to grief crossed Jean's face. "You're not the only one who misses her, Chief," he told him, his voice softening. "And you're not the only one who doesn't want to lose anyone else."

Breda took another step forward, his shoulders squared. "He's right, Colonel. If there's a chance Riza's still out there, we're gonna get her back. you know, if she hasn't busted herself out yet," he added in a halfhearted attempt at comic relief.

Roy knew they had him cornered. He raised an eyebrow; they couldn't talk about this so openly, especially not here in Central Headquarters of all places. He hoped they'd grasp his thinly-veiled code.

"Gentlemen, how about I take you out for a drink after work?"

* * *

"Colonel, could you please explain again why you're sending Barry in ahead? That's like throwing a match into a gas can," Alphonse whispered.

"Hey, I'm not _that_ volatile!" Barry shouted, indignant. "Just because I like hacking things up-"

Mustang cut him off. "You're only furthering his point, Chopper. But yes, Alphonse, it is exactly like throwing a match into a gas can. That's the point. He's going to be our diversion," he explained. At nine understanding nods, he asked, "You all understand your orders?"

At their salutes, Roy stood. With a shove, Barry was off.

Ling, Lan Fan and the Elrics split up, both groups aiming for entrances on the opposite end of the building in an attempt to more or less have the building surrounded. Roy held up a gloved hand, his men poised behind him, eyes trained on his back. As if on cue, the shouts and screams went off like a bomb in the building, and Roy allowed himself a self-satisfied smirk before drawing his gun and closing in.

"Attention all personnel!" he announced, well-versed in the art of projecting his voice for the sake of command. "There is a deranged lunatic loose on the premises. I need everyone to evacuate immediately!"

Anyone who was still calm enough to listen - a very small few - ushered themselves out. The majority that remained continued to impersonate a flock of decapitated chickens; Mustang's unit immediately rounded up the staff, clearing the building room by room. Roy feigned pursuit, purposefully taking wrong turns and thoroughly scoping the building, keeping his eyes peeled for any trace of his lieutenant.

After nearly ten minutes, the Colonel gritted his teeth with a sinking heart. He was closing in on Barry, and still nothing had been found. Had the Chopper been wrong? Had he _lied_ to them? He was, after all, a psychopathic murderer.

He didn't have time to stress on it.

"Hey Chief, you might wanna see this!"

And, "Hey, is that- _that's my body!_"

Roy froze; from the corridor before him, a large chunk of a man whirred past, too quickly for him to make out any distinctive features. Barry was close on his tail, no longer sprinting aimlessly through the building. At the same time, Havoc clapped him on the back, trying to get his commander's attention.

"Colonel, we think we found something!"

Thinking fast on his feet, he turned to the Second Lieutenant. "Something's come up with Chopper. I want you, Fuery, Falman and Breda to contain him and whatever the hell he's found. I don't care how; if you kill it I won't be furious."

With a slight grimace, Jean nodded. "Sir."

* * *

The stairs creaked beneath his feet. He clutched the rail for support - it was his only guide, being pitch black beneath the building.

It was amazing that his men had found the trapdoor; when he'd said to be thorough, they'd taken it to heart. They'd had to move several carts and tables out of the way to get to it, and without really inspecting it it was hard to tell that it was even there.

Mustang's boot caught - on what, he couldn't see - and he fell forward, barely catching himself against the wall. He'd reached the end of the wooden staircase, though as he ran his hands along the walls, he came up empty in searching for a light switch. Roy was reluctant to don his gloves for flame; he couldn't contain it in his hand, and he couldn't send it off in just any random direction. If anything or anyone valuable was down here he could risk damaging them. The Colonel gritted his teeth, and left with no other option, he called out, "Lieutenant?"

Roy winced as the lights flickered on, brighter than expected. Scanning the room, he found a woman, eerily familiar.

"Sorry to disappoint you, but no, I am not your Lieutenant," she murmured, tongue darting out to lick her dark lips. Her eyes roamed over him, and with a sly grin, she added, "Although, if you'd like to be my Colonel, I can't say I'd mind..."

Mustang glared at her, his fingers already itching to snap. "Shut up," he spat. "Where is she?"

The smile fell from the woman's face and she shifted forward, arms dropping from where they had been crossed over her chest. Roy's eyes fell on it, noticing the symbol that lay there - the one from Edward's drawing. And suddenly it clicked - this was Lust. A homunculus. "Not here," she snapped, raising an eyebrow at him. "And no, I won't tell you where she is."

"You're lying."

"Believe what you want," she said, shrugging. "I don't really feel like fighting about it."

Roy gritted his teeth, his blood beginning to boil. This woman - this thing - was connected to Hawkeye's kidnap ,and Hughes' murder and right now, he was going to hold her entirely liable for the consequences of crossing the Flame Alchemist in such a way. "I don't give a _fuck_ what you feel like doing," he hissed.

He snapped.

After his confrontation with the Fuhrer, he'd expected her to be fast on her feet. What he didn't anticipate was how _sluggish_ she made the old man seem in comparison.

With no warning, she was _there_, nose-to-nose with him, having dodged his flames completely, not one immaculate hair on her head singed. She bared her teeth at him, appearing almost feral. "I told you I didn't feel like doing this, Mustang. If you piss me off, you'll be sorry. Don't think I don't know how to properly castrate a man."

For a split second he moved to hit her, then realized what she'd done. He was trapped between her "freaky fingers," as Barry had so aptly described. Turning his head, he saw that they stabbed through the solid concrete walls. Meeting her gaze with an angry glare of his own, he fumed, "Then let my Lieutenant go and I'll leave you alone," he lied. Whether or not Hawkeye was set free, this homunculus was going to end up as a pile of ashes, of that he would make damn sure.

"I told you, she's not here. It's quite upsetting that you think I'm lying to you."

"Why should I believe you?" he demanded, fidgeting slightly, anxious to move. He was getting sick of being slammed against walls by resident monsters.

"Go see for yourself." Her eyes didn't leave his as she gestured towards the opposite end of the room. He hadn't noticed it before - a door, with three small slits to pass light and air. A holding cell.

Roy's heart sank; Hawkeye really wasn't there.

Which meant...

"_**What the** **hell did you do to her**_?" he raged, flame flying from his fingers on automatic instinct. She dodged again, her fingers lashing out at him. He threw up a wall of fire, a savage sort of pleasure rising in him at her shrill scream when the flame ate at her hand. "I swear on my country, _if you killed her_-" he snapped again, unable to even speak anymore. The monster shrieked again.

Momentarily sated in his fury, he let her cough and sputter, "She's - not _dead_-"

Growling, Roy snapped once more, and again, and again, and _again_, letting himself give in to blind hatred. Lust's cries fell on deaf ears.

As he raised his hand, fully prepared and even eager to deliver the final blow, something in her piercing eyes stayed his hand.

"Go ahead," she spat defiantly. "Do it. We have the _perfect_ candidate readily available to replace me."

Roy's head swam as he stared at her, the expanse of charred and disintegrating skin and cloth, trying to digest her words. Someone to replace her? What -

_**He was human once,** Pride had said. **His soul was fused with a Philosopher's Stone, and he was strong enough to survive it.**_

_**She's not dead.**_

He gasped, moisture forming in his eyes. All he could manage was a strangled whisper as he barely kept from falling to his knees.

"You _bitch_."

* * *

**A/N:** I'll be honest, I've had the last scene in my head for months, and part of it written since last... October, I think. It's probably my favorite part of the fic so far (with the exclusion of the execution of the fight scene because how do you choreograph fight scenes what), possibly out of everything I have planned for it. I don't even know why - the poetic element? The parallel? I don't know. All I know is that's what I'm most satisfied with so far.

Sorry to everyone who thought we were getting Riza back in this chapter! It can't be _that_ easy, can it? What kind of homunculi would they be if they lost her that easily?

Canonically, we're about episode 19-ish in Brotherhood, so take a guess at what's coming next chapter...

Review!


	10. Chapter 10

**DISCLAIMER:** Fullmetal is Arakawa's.

**A/N:** So... I realize that it's been about two months since the last update... sorry. I threw in a tiny dash of Lingfan as an apology.

A big huge thank you to my lovely friend roseblossomwarrior for beta-ing this chapter. I agonized over this one and I might not have finished it if it wasn't for her. (Go read her fics because they're great and she's great)

Just a warning, there are scenes in this chapter that get slightly graphic, violence-wise. If you're squeamish I would suggest taking care while reading this chapter.

* * *

"Split them up!"

Second Lieutenant Havoc's voice didn't hold nearly the command that his Colonel's did. His thoughts were half strung together and mixed with a sinking feeling about Mustang's predicament, making his words less than coherent, but all the same the team followed his orders to the letter. Fuery and Falman ceased fire on the body Barry chased, seeing the lack of effect the bullets had on his flesh. Breda, by far the strongest of the four, abandoned his cover - a large mahogany desk - and cut the Chopper off, aiming his weapon squarely at him. Barry swung blindly at him, mindless in his pursuit. Breda barely dodged the blow, jumping and rolling on the ground to avoid the wrong end of his butcher's knife. He was on his feet again in an instant, swearing loudly.

"Where the hell did the Colonel go? We could really use some flames right about now," he griped, raising his voice in order to be heard over the commotion. "This bastard's got a head thicker than concrete."

Havoc growled. "Get them outside!" he ordered. "And away from civilians! Let Barry take care of him for all I care, but I want them out of here!"

A chorus of sirs shot through the air. Jean grabbed at the closest man to him - which happened to be Falman- and yanked him towards him, his hand fisting around the collar of the Warrant Officer's uniform and nearly cutting his finger on the button pinned there.

"Falman! I need you to get those two out of here. Kill that thing if you can, but I want the building cleared!"

"Hav- sir, where are you going?" Falman asked, a look of near-panic on his face. Both men ducked and Havoc released his grip on Falman as another spray of bullets was released - probably by Fuery, who had a tendency to squeeze his eyes shut and commence rapid fire to protect his ass. "Who are you leaving in charge?"

Havoc spared a glance at Fuery, who'd managed to make the monster bleed, before facing him again. "You, Falman. I've got a bad feeling about the Colonel, so I'm going in after him."

The soldier's eyes widened at that. "You're-" he started, confused. "What about orders? You can't-"

"Yes, I can," Havoc shot back, sounding much more confident than he felt. He clapped him on the shoulder, flashing him a grim smile. "You can handle this, go."

* * *

The air was dank and grew colder the further Havoc moved down the staircase. His only guide was the splintery wooden handrail that ran alongside the wall; it was far too dark to make out even the step in front of him, let alone to search any light that would give away the entrance to the basement. The chill started to set into him, and even as he did his best to ignore it, two words reached him that froze him to the bone.

It wasn't even the words, though - it was the despair, the surrender that tinged the anger. To Havoc, the man who spoke them had always been a rock, solid and steady, fearless - a true king.

"You _bitch_."

The instant the basement was in view, Havoc fired.

Steadily, he emptied a round into the woman kneeling before Mustang, paying no mind to the horrified expression that warped his commander's face. The dark-haired body recoiled with each chunk of metal piercing her flesh, yet - he realized too late - his shots drew no blood. He paused, lowering his weapon half an inch. The woman was still for a long moment, her skin charred and smoking. Slowly her lips turned upwards into a daunting smile as she straightened, her eyes flashing dangerously.

"Havoc, hold your fire! That's an order!"

"What the hell is that thing, Colonel?" he called back, his eyes widening in panic as the woman rose to her feet, her fingers sharpening into sickeningly long blades.

"Excuse you," the woman hissed, her eyes narrowing. She held her hand out at an angle from her body, brandishing her nails. "Did your mother not teach you respect? I am not a thing, I am a woman. Although I am far superior to human women, it holds true nonetheless." As she spoke, she strode closer, causing Havoc's grip to tighten on his gun, ignoring the tremors running through his hands. "And I am to be feared more than any human man you have ever laid eyes on."

"She's a homun- _Havoc_!"

The Colonel's scream felt distant, muted. One moment the woman was glaring at him, her eyes swimming with bloodlust, and the next - his gun was on the floor, the world a red blur.

It took several moments before he recognized the scream as his own, and longer still before he registered the pain.

The chill of her nails seeped into him, the blades slicing through his entrails as she retracted them. He stumbled backwards, one hand unconsciously pressing onto the wound as he toppled to the ground. There was a moment of enhanced awareness - the warmth soaking his waist and fingers, the worn wood pressed to his cheek, the taste of ash in his mouth left from the forgotten cigarette left unfinished. And within moments, it all vanished, leaving Havoc dead to the world.

* * *

"Why am I here?"

The man's visible eye gleamed in the dim light of the cell, narrowing at her. He said nothing, merely holding his stance as guard at her door, right hand resting conspicuously on the hilt of his sword.

"Why am I here, Bradley?" Riza demanded, struggling to resist the urge to pull at the restraints on her wrists. She had no desire to chafe until she bled.

This time she managed to drag a response out of him. His lip curled beneath the well-groomed mustache, baring just a flash of his teeth. "Lieutenant Hawkeye, you will close your mouth if you know what's good for you," he snarled.

Riza barely held back a scream. Her hands clenched into fists around the thin bars that separated her from the throat she was beginning to want to slit. "Dammit, Bradley, why the hell am I here? What is going on?" she yelled, feeling her sanity derail with each word. She wasn't one to sit on her hands any more than the Colonel; she'd never felt so damn useless. She was Riza fucking Hawkeye, who saved the Flame Alchemist's ass on a daily basis, who trained her pets by shooting at them, who had been the only one to come anywhere near to killing the infamous serial killer known only as Scar. And all she had accomplished in the entirety of the last month was tighten the chokehold around Roy's neck.

She felt the trickle of warmth flowing down her neck before she even realized she had been cut. Bradley's sword was nothing but a blur in the dark, and it was sheathed again before the first drop of blood fell to her chest. She barely caught the hiss that sat on her lips, refusing to give him that satisfaction.

"Lieutenant," the Fuhrer growled, "I will not warn you again."

His eyes locked onto hers for a long moment before he began to draw away, boots clacking against the concrete.

Riza's mind was racing as she watched him head towards the exit; she couldn't afford to be useless anymore. They had moved her, which meant someone was threatening their plans - she could only hope it was the Colonel. If she only knew what the hell was going on, she could formulate some sort of strategy to aid him in whatever way she could

In a sudden moment of clarity, Lust's words came back to her, aiming her in what seemed a good direction.

If you're trying to get a monologue out of me about our plans to end the world, your efforts are wasted. You might want to try it on one of the men; they're much easier to coax into boastful diatribes.

"Why did you kill Brigadier General Hughes?" she asked. The words burned in her bleeding throat.

The man paused, his back ramrod straight, and cocked his head to the side, just enough to glance at her from the corner of his one eye. His voice betrayed none of the wrath he had displayed only moments before. "My dear Lieutenant, what makes you think I killed him? I was certain we had established that you did."

"Fuck you," she spat. "Why is Hughes dead?"

The Fuhrer closed his eyes, shaking his head just slightly. "Those who know too much don't last very long," he told her quietly, menacingly enough that she couldn't possibly misunderstand him. He had dropped the act, but she was now at higher risk because of it. "Maes Hughes became a problem, and so he was eliminated. Which is why I would advise you to watch your step, Lieutenant."

Riza gritted her teeth, frustrated with the way he had sidestepped her question. "You're hiding something, something important. Why else would you kill someone so high up - why else would you risk the scrutiny? Not very many people believe it, you know. That I, a soldier with a spotless-" she stuttered slightly over the word, forcing her mind out of the desert "-criminal record, killed one of my own brothers in arms. You could have at least picked a more plausible suspect."

His mask slipped for just the briefest moment, but Riza didn't miss the way his lip curled in anger. "The decision to frame you was not mine," he said in a low voice.

Bradley's slip of information - the involvement of a third party - piqued Riza's interest. "Who killed him, then? Was it- was it that woman? Lust?"

A small chuckle escaped him. "No. For all Lust's faults, she's not so much of an imbecile as to, how'd you put it? Frame such an implausible suspect."

"Then who was it?"

"That is none of your concern."

He left then, and Riza sighed, fingers digging into her palms. She hadn't gotten much out of him, but she knew something, at least. She would have to keep up her strength if she wanted to make any more progress.

Hawkeye glanced at the empty water glass in the corner of her cell and closed her eyes.

* * *

Several minutes had passed since anyone had exited the laboratory, at least from their vantage point. Edward and Alphonse had taken the exit opposite them, and so far they hadn't had the need to call for help. It had been a solid half an hour, and both Ling and Lan Fan had stayed crouched behind the bushes all the while.

Ling shivered. It was minute, stifled, but it was enough to alert the young woman beside him.

"Young lord, do you need my jacket?" she asked quietly, eyeing him anxiously.

He glanced sideways at her, shaking his head. "I'm all right," he told her, mentally cursing his slip. Tonight was about this Hawkeye lady, not him. A slight chill wasn't going to hurt him.

"Are you sure? It would be a pleasure to-"

He turned to face her full on, and gave her a small smile. "Really, Lan Fan, I'm fine. There's no need to worry about me."

She knew it was not her place to argue with him; she dipped her head, words of acquiescence on the tip of her tongue, when she froze. A rustling noise, faint though it was, came from behind her, about ten yards away.

Ling didn't miss the way she tensed. His eyes widened and searched her face. He knew better than to ask any questions, merely waiting for any signal. She was still for a long moment, dead silent.

Her fists collided with his shoulders with more impact than he'd have guessed possible; his head hit a branch as he fell. Grunting, he blinked, and saw that Lan Fan was on her feet, facing the dense forest with a knife in hand. He half expected her to shout at... whatever it was, but she remained silent, waiting for it to come to her.

And it did. A large, roundish creature swathed in black approached them, making no effort to tread lightly. With Lan Fan blocking a great deal of his view, Ling couldn't see its face. When it spoke, its voice reminded him of a small child.

"You smell tasty," it said simply. "I want to eat you."

Alarm bells went off in Ling's head at that, but he forced himself to remain quiet, knowing Lan Fan had shoved him down to keep him out of sight, to keep him safe.

If he hadn't known her for as long as he had - over a decade - he wouldn't have been able to detect the slight edge of fear in Lan Fan's voice. "What are you? And what do you want?"

The creature gave a small laugh. "To _eat_ you," it repeated, a little louder. "Stupid girl."

There was a sickening slithering noise accompanied by a throaty growl, and before Ling knew what had happened, Lan Fan's body had been seized, pulled into a gaping hole in the middle of the monster's belly.

Ling was on his feet in an instant, self-preservation be damned. "_Lan Fan_!" he yelled, eyes wide with panic. He charged at the beast with his sword in hand, thoughts too scrambled to think of anything but revenge on what had taken - he refused to believe she'd been killed - Lan Fan.

The monster's tentacle-like limbs wrapped themselves around the prince's frame, and he found himself staring into a large eye with a red iris.

The last words he heard were, "_You look tasty, too_!"

* * *

Roy's brain felt like it was on fire.

"Havoc!" he screamed helplessly as he watched his comrade fall, eyes wide and pupils mere pinpricks. "Havoc, can you hear me? Answer me! Dammit, Lieutenant!"

Wherever Lust went, he didn't see. With the decision to spare her solidified in his mind, the homunculus was rapidly forgotten. Mustang fell to his knees beside Jean, forcing his gaze onto the source of the blood that pooled around him. His mind raced, falling back into the month he'd spent in research on burns and burn treatment for Hawkeye's sake, contemplating the idea of sealing the wound with his alchemy. It was risky; if the wound was his own, he would be able to gauge his progress and judge if he had gone too far or done something wrong. With Havoc unconscious, he could easily kill him rather than help him. He clenched his jaw, feeling a bead of sweat drip down his temple.

_Not again. This can't be happening **again**._

Roy flexed his fingers in his gloves, pulled aside the cloth of Havoc's uniform, and snapped as gently as he could, only sealing the surface layer of skin. If Havoc made it to the hospital - _when_ Havoc made it to the hospital - medical personnel could easily reopen the wound and perform surgery on his shredded innards. Roy could only hope his logic was sound enough to make up for his complete lack of medical knowledge.

As the wound seared shut, Roy shifted himself to hoist Havoc onto his back. A warm, wet spot between his shoulders made itself known, and he bit his tongue at the realization that it was the Lieutenant's blood.

With his grip tightened firmly around Havoc's ankles and wrists, the man slung over his shoulders, he stood, ignoring the way he trembled in his boots, and made for the staircase. He stubbed his feet several times due to his haste and the lack of lighting, but he maaged to reach the first floor without dropping his subordinate.

There were no signs of his team, or anyone else, in the building. Roy searched several abandoned offices before finding one with a phone. He growled under his breath as he spotted a coin slot, shifting Havoc to gain access to a pocket where he kept spare change for just such an occasion. The buttons slammed down under his gloved fingers and the moment the ringing on the other end of the line stopped, Roy barked out his status and location. He barely waited for an affirmative before hanging up.

"Hang in there, Havoc," he murmured, casting his eyes around the room. His next objective was to find a stretcher, or hell, even a desk long enough to lay a man down on. Jostling him with the movements he made just by walking around could exacerbate his injury, and the ast thing he wanted was for Jean to bleed out before the ambulance arrived.

He caught a break in his streak of bad luck; an unfolded stretcher was in the next room over, along with a first aid kit in a glass container on the wall. Quickly, he laid the man down and proceeded to do what he could to sterilize the burns, glancing anxiously at the clock all the while.

"Just hang on."

* * *

**A/N**: And so concludes chapter ten! Will Havoc survive? Where did Gluttony come from? Where did Lust go? Where did they come from, Cotton Eye Joe? Next time, on Dragon Ball Z.


End file.
